Divide of Time
by Anubis Ankh
Summary: Begins at chapter 31 of Pride-of-Time. Hermione does not de-age herself- not everything can be fixed in time, and sometimes the only solution is to move forward with what you have...
1. Chapter 1

**This story begins at chapter thirty-one of Pride of Time. It is recommended you read at least up to that point in the story before reading Divide of Time, which is a derivative companion piece that explores a future where Hermione does not de-age herself. It is, however, possible to read this story without reading Pride of Time first, but I suspect that might greatly reduce your enjoyment and understanding.**

**This is why I had a difficult time writing the Epilogue for Pride of Time. I was still wrestling with myself over making a set-in-stone ending for all of the characters, when I still had this idea bouncing around in my head.**

**I've decided to start posting on FFnet again. For an explanation, please see my profile.**

**The reason I am posting this is because after six months of searching— _yes, six months— _I was not able to find a beta. After posting this story, I came across the fabulous _Meladara_ and _That Crazy Hippie Girl_ who have both agreed to step up to the plate.**

**Next chapter will be posted directly after Thanksgiving Break, and will then begin a once-a-week posting schedule.**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

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_"I shall be telling this with a sigh  
Somewhere ages and ages hence:  
two roads diverged in a wood, and I**—**  
I took the one less traveled by,  
And that has made all the difference."_

_-Robert Frost_

* * *

The conversation with Selenius concerning Voldemort had gone significantly better than Hermione could have ever expected. Selenius was not terrified out of his wits that Voldemort was going to hunt him down, but he wasn't refusing to take the situation seriously, either. In fact, if anything, he seemed to grow thoughtful over the next few days, as he continued to absorb and mull over this new information in his head.

Occasionally, he would ask her further questions about it out of the blue, but if it were not for that, Hermione might have thought he had abandoned all concern about the conversation. Later that day, Severus stopped by for the nine o'clock Order meeting, where he gave them all his report on the Dark Lord's movements.

"Not only has he added ten Death Eaters to his ranks, but among them is Augustus Rookwood," he told them silkily, "formerly of the Department of Mysteries. He has told the Dark Lord how to obtain the Weapon."

There was a murmur of alarm, followed by a ripple of unease through the assembled Order members.

"Now I don't quite understand here, but if you'll just give me a sec," Tonks spoke up, "I thought you had to be the one a prophecy was made about in order to take it?"

"That leaves him with two options," Moody growled. "He can either go in himself—"

"—or manipulate Potter into doing so," Severus finished smoothly. "Yes, I know."

"Severus?" Dumbledore asked calmly. For all his tone indicated, he might have been reading the newspaper and discussing the weather. "How is Harry's Occlumency coming along?"

Severus stiffened visibly for a moment. After the debacle in which Trelawney had been sacked, Severus had returned in more foul a mood than Hermione could have ever predicted. Harry had breached Severus's defences during their lesson and reversed the Legilimency on him quite by accident. Nothing truly incriminating had been seen—Severus as a child while his parents were fighting, Severus attempting to get on a bucking broomstick, Severus as a teenager…

"Very badly, Headmaster," Severus sneered. "He has no talent, no discipline, no real understanding of just how serious his situation is. His progress is stilted, and the boy wears his heart on his sleeve for all to see—he has only a modicum of self-restraint. And he does not practice as he should."

"Keep working with him, then," Dumbledore said with a sigh.

The meeting broke up, and they dispersed. Severus and Hermione left to return to Hogwarts. Hagrid on probation, Harry continuing to see a dark corridor, the interview with the _Quibbler_… everything was starting to come to a head once more, and Hermione could not help but wring her hands in anxiety as she felt the clock nearing midnight for her. Soon—very soon—her younger self would be barrelling down the corridor that would take her flying back nineteen years in time. The time for that was drawing alarmingly close, like a great black shadow that she had only seen out of the corner of her eye before—

"Hermione?"

"Wha—oh, yes, Headmaster?" Hermione said, rubbing her temple, snapping out of her contemplation. "I—er—you were saying?"

Dumbledore's gaze was serious enough to stop Hermione in her tracks as they approached the fireplace that would Floo them back to Hogwarts. "Your younger self will be tripping down the stairs into 1977 in just two weeks," he said, resting a hand on the mantle. "We have not found a way to slip you back into your old shoes, and stopping the accident from occurring is hardly the answer."

Hermione chewed on the side of her lip. "I've been thinking about that a lot," she said at last. "I can't go back as I am now—that would cause irreparable damage to the Order, by giving the Ministry ammunition to arrest and investigate us, the school—everyone, really—for mismanagement of a Time-Turner. There would be no realistic explanation for my sudden aging, not even if we staged a potions accident—" and here, she turned around to glance at her husband, who was eyeing her grimly, but she saw his lips quirk up in slight amusement at this. "The only solution, it seems, is to not go back at all."

"That will create quite a different uproar," Dumbledore mused. "A student missing isn't something we take lightly."

"But," Hermione said, holding up her hand, "when I go missing, you won't be in charge—the Ministry will have enough evidence at their disposal that they'll probably find a way to oust you. That means I'll go missing on their watch."

For the first time since the sobering discussion had begun, Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "That doesn't bode well for them, it seems."

"And," Hermione continued, now warming up to the idea, "I'll be able to take a more active role in the Order—as soon as Granger disappears, I won't have to worry about doing something that might interfere with my timeline. I'm much more useful as an adult, rather than masquerading as a student."

"You've overlooked something important," Severus interjected, his voice low.

Hermione closed her eyes, and sighed. "Yes. My friends—Harry and Ron, especially…"

"They won't know what to make of your sudden disappearance," Dumbledore murmured.

"We'll have to handle that, somehow," Hermione said, folding her arms across her chest and tucking in her chin, the way she did when she was deep in thought, and didn't have a quill to chew on. "Harry's demoralized enough as it is, and after the fiasco with our Defense group being discovered—" she wasn't quite ready to let it slip that they were called _Dumbledore's Army_, "—my disappearance might make him do something reckless. Dangerous, even. I tried to be the voice of reason—" Severus snorted at this "—and encouragement when we were students, but with me gone, he might think there's nothing left to lose." She glanced at Dumbledore. "With you gone, especially, he might try to leave Hogwarts."

"We can't allow that to happen," Dumbledore said simply, but there was a note of tight finality to his words. "If Hermione Granger disappears, and I am gone, then you must step in."

Hermione froze. "Are you…" She narrowed her eyes at him. "You're not—you're not suggesting I reveal myself to him, are you?"

"When would be a better time for you?" Severus sneered. "He knows he's got a godmother out there, he's been dying to meet her for years. Whether you reveal yourself to him now or later no longer makes any difference. If you can't slot yourself back into place, and if there's no further risk of changing the timeline, we've got nothing to lose and everything to gain."

"You're right," Hermione said slowly, surprising even herself with the admission. Staying hidden from Harry had been a priority for so long, that she had continued doing it out of pure habit, like a knee-jerk reaction rather than as part of a well-crafted plan. But in two weeks' time, new options would be open for her. "Of course…"

An odd smile overcame her, as she lifted a thumb to her lips, chewing on it thoughtfully as she began to gnaw on a strange, new idea.

"I could show him who I am," she muttered, more to herself than to either of the other occupants in the room. "I can't tell him that I'm Hermione Granger, of course, but that I'm his godmother—that could work…"

She locked eyes with the headmaster, and at once, both knew they had come to an understanding.

"I'll do it."

~o~O~o~

"You're distracted, mum."

Hermione's head snapped up. "Hmm?" she glanced back at the chessboard, and didn't immediately register anything amiss. "Why do you say that?"

Selenius pointed to her white queen, which lay on the side of the board, looking rather miserable in its beaten-up state. "You weren't even watching," he complained. "That was too easy."

Hermione grimaced. "Sorry. You caught me."

"What are you thinking about?" Selenius asked, as his mother shifted in her seat and looked over at her pieces, considering her next move much more carefully than the last. "You've been really off for days. Even Sirius thinks so," he added, after a moment's consideration, "because it's more than usual."

Hermione allowed herself a small smile as she moved her rook across three spaces, and took a black pawn as a paltry victory. "It's just work for the Order," she said, sitting back. Her son was old enough to be aware of the world around him, and the unusual number—and sensitive nature—of their visitors. There was no hiding it from him. "After tonight, I'll be stationed at Hogwarts, so I won't get to see you quite as often, among other things."

Selenius wilted visibly at this. "And dad?"

"He'll still stop by when he can," Hermione reassured him. "And Sirius will always be here."

Selenius chewed on his lower lip in a manner that was extraordinarily reminiscent of Hermione's younger self, and she could see him carefully calculating what kind of effect this would have on his day-to-day life. "Will we still get to visit Tine Cottage?"

Hermione laughed. "That won't change, I promise you."

Comforted, Selenius resumed their game without further pursuit of the topic. Hermione, however, fell back into her inner thoughts. The last thirteen days had flown by far too quickly for her liking, and soon—all too soon—tonight, in fact, would be the night everything changed.

It was so hard to forget the incident that had sent her sprawling back two decades in time. The rush through the corridors, the sudden stumble that shattered her world, the pain of a Time-Turner that had become too hot to handle; the emotional roller-coaster when, after discovering that she had landed in April 1st of 1977, she realized she would never be able to wholly fix this. There had been no way to fast-forward through time. And there had been no conceivable way to permanently de-age her.

It still made her mind swirl with disbelief whenever she reminisced about the life she'd had after being sent back in time. Sometimes, even she had trouble believing her own tale—if it weren't for the memories and consequences, she might have eventually written it off as a bad dream.

There was a sudden flash of fire, and the crackle of something bursting into existence; Hermione shot up from the table as the Headmaster arrived, still holding onto Fawkes' red-and-gold plumage, and wearing an oddly cheerful, if slightly dotty, expression on his face.

"Albus!" Hermione shoved her chair in, nearly knocking over the abandoned chessboard. "What happened?"

"Oh, nothing extraordinary, I assure you," Dumbledore said, dusting off his robes and kicking the heel of his boots against the ground. He pulled out a scroll, whose title clearly read _Dumbledore's Army_, and held it out to Selenius. "My dear boy, would you do me a favour and fetch this off to Sirius? He should be in Buckbeak's room, at this hour."

"He is." Selenius was still grinning at the Headmaster's flashy entrance, chess match forgotten, as he snatched up the scroll and scampered out of the room. Hermione waited until his footsteps died away to address the Headmaster, hands on her hips.

"Professor, what did you _do_?"

"A little bit of damage control here and there," Dumbledore said cheerfully, as Fawkes settled on the back of one of the abandoned chairs. "I diverted their attention from Harry by pointing out that their group, as you very clearly wrote out at the top of your manifest, was named for me."

There was a shout of laughter from somewhere upstairs. Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "I haven't forgotten that. Do go on."

"I'm a wanted man now, Hermione," Dumbledore said, sounding entirely unconcerned. "This might finally boot me off the Chocolate Frog cards, mind, but nevertheless, it could be worse—this way, I'll be free to take care of several important errands that looking after Hogwarts inevitably delayed."

"So that's it?" Hermione asked, worry creeping into her voice. "But Albus, who's going to take your place? Surely the Ministry won't let Minerva…?"

"Oh, they surely won't," Dumbledore agreed. The thump of descending footsteps drummed the stairs. "But my office is quite safe from Professor Umbridge's excessively-bejewelled hands—"

"Albus."

"—and I trust the teachers to hold the fort down in my absence," Dumbledore finished.

At that moment, Sirius strode into the room, Selenius practically skipping close behind. He held up the parchment with the DA's manifesto written upon it, and Hermione could plainly see that it was taking everything he had not to double over laughing.

"Hermione, did you really?"

She allowed herself a sheepish half-smile. "We wanted to stick it to the Ministry."

Sirius clapped her on the back, and let out a bark of laughter. "That's our girl!"

"Although in hindsight, I probably shouldn't have," Hermione admitted, not quite meeting the Headmaster's eyes.

To her surprise, though, Dumbledore merely beamed at her. "On the contrary, I couldn't have been more honoured."

"Well," Hermione said bracingly, altogether flattered, but deciding to move things along, "that's all very well now, but you're no longer there, Granger's absence will soon be noticed, and Harry's just had the one thing that kept him going swept out from beneath his feet. We need to decide what to do next."

"I know that tone," Sirius said, as he walked over to the cupboard to pin the list of Dumbledore's Army to it, before leaning against the counter and folding his arms. "You've already got something in mind."

Hermione looked down at Selenius, who took the hint, and headed for the door.

"I'm going, I'm going," he muttered.

As soon as she heard the stairs creak, and his footsteps could be heard on the topmost landing, Hermione spoke.

"I want to reveal myself to him," she said. "And I want to use him to retrieve the Weapon."

* * *

**As always, please read and review!**

**-Anubis Ankh**


	2. Chapter 2

**If there's anyone to be thanking for this chapter, it would be _That Crazy Hippie Girl,_ who got it back to me BEFORE Thanksgiving Break. Here we go!**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

* * *

There was an Order meeting on Friday that enough members managed to find time to attend, or were at least in a position to relay the outcome to the other members, that they were able to convene it. The kitchen of Grimmauld Place was crowded as everyone budged aside or scooted forward, trying to find a seat at the table, or at least a good place to listen. Mundungus fell asleep on the floor, smelling of dirty rags and smoke before they had even begun. The door was warded against possible eavesdropping, and then they all settled down to start. The expected things were gotten out of the way first—Dumbledore confirmed that he was no longer at Hogwarts, but that he would still be around, albeit quite busy. As far as Hermione could see, he wasn't even slightly disappointed at being temporarily ousted. On the contrary, he seemed to consider this a great opportunity, though she couldn't for the life of her imagine why.

In the middle of all of this, the parchment tacked to the cupboard caught Molly's sharp eye, and she tore it down for closer inspection. There was a tiny shriek of barely-concealed rage half-way through Dumbledore's story, and Hermione found herself slowly sinking down in her chair as Molly wheeled around to face them.

"_Dumbledore's Army?_ They named themselves—good heavens—and my children are on this list!"

Hermione sank down even lower.

"I told them not to join! They could have been _expelled!_" Mrs. Weasley cried, slapping the offending manifesto onto the table. "Harry almost was!"

"Molly," Sirius said, in what was supposed to be a placating tone, but one that Hermione suspected would have the opposite effect, "what's done is done. No one was expelled, and the group's been disbanded, so there's no—"

"What I want to know is _whose_ idea this was, exactly?" Molly asked, giving Sirius a very pointed glare. "I thought I explicitly told you not to encourage them, yet clearly—"

"No," Hermione interrupted, straightening. "It wasn't his fault, Molly. It was mine."

"I—what?" That seemed to knock some of the wind out of her sails. All eyes turned upon Hermione.

"The group was my idea in the first place," Hermione admitted, not wanting Sirius to be on the receiving end of Mrs. Weasley's ire. She could understand why Molly was upset, sympathized even, but would rather she direct it at the person responsible. "I'm the one who suggested we come up with a name, to make a list, and put a jinx on the parchment."

"This was _your_ idea?" Molly repeated faintly, as though she couldn't quite believe it.

Hermione thought she heard Kingsley let out a deep chuckle at this, and Moody muttered something in the darker man's ear that sounded rather approving.

"Twenty years ago, it was," Sirius interjected. "There's no point berating her about it now." This seemed to cause Molly to deflate a bit, having built up all that steam, and with nothing else to do with it but let it subside. The meeting continued largely uninterrupted after that, as they moved onto the current conflicts taking place in the school.

"Umbridge attempted to bring in some Aurors to take care of the fireworks that Fred and George set off—they were quite impressive, by the way," Kingsley said, with a wink at Molly, who didn't seem to quite know whether to be upset or flattered. "I took a look at them myself, and told her that they weren't within my purview. To hear it, she's had right difficult first day as Headmistress."

"I approve," Sirius said, crossing his arms. Hermione nodded in agreement with him, grinning.

"Professor Snape also managed to tell me that Umbridge tried to interrogate Harry in her office," Kingsley continued. "She requested some Veritaserum from him, but he slipped her water instead. He wagered she wouldn't test it out on herself, and given it's highly regulated by the Ministry, she couldn't test it on someone else without raising suspicion. Fudge's leeway with her only goes so far to cover what doesn't get out to the papers."

"What did she ask him about?" Hermione interjected quickly.

"I'm not quite sure, but I suspect she probably tried to find Dumbledore's whereabouts through him," Kingsley responded easily. "And quite likely Sirius Black's, given she almost caught you just a few months ago," he added, his eyes flickering to Sirius, not in warning, but calm reprimand. "But I know she also asked about you, Hermione—you haven't shown up to any of your classes, and none of the teachers seem to know where you are. I know Granger locked horns with her a few times over the last couple of months, so she's naturally suspicious about your absence. She asked me to do a search through the castle, before I left."

"How are Harry and Ron taking it?" Hermione asked, bringing her knuckle to her lips. "Did you get to speak to them?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, Hermione, but I don't think they realize you're gone yet," Kingsley said slowly. "The fireworks have been going on all day, and it's been a bit hectic. They saw me today, but I think if they were worried about you missing, they would have approached me."

"They probably think I'm in the library," Hermione said, not at all offended by the implication of the Auror's words. "It's not unusual. Of course, I've never deliberately skived off a class, but they might think I've found something important—they might not notice until tomorrow."

"Some good friends they are," Moody muttered. "No matter how many times I tell them—"

"Constant vigilance, yes, we know, Mad-Eye," Tonks interrupted, with a long-suffering sigh. "But they've got a lot going on right now, especially with trying to keep one step ahead of that toad. I honestly don't blame them."

"Now that we've got that sorted out, there's one last item to address," Hermione said, with a glance at Dumbledore. She straightened a little, and beside her, she could tell Sirius was bracing himself for what was to come. "Now that—now that I'm no longer restricted by the possible risks that come with changing my timeline, I've decided to reveal myself to Harry."

"Say what?" Tonks exclaimed, eyes wide.

"Are you sure about that?" Moody asked, his electric-blue eye whizzing around in its socket. "You don't do things without a good reason, Snape. What's yours?"

"Albus, did you know about this?" Molly asked worriedly, leaning forward in her seat. "I don't deny that Harry's got a right to know his godmother, and I think it might be good for him, but he can't possibly sneak out of the school to see her—"

"And we don't want to give him reason to," Moody growled, before Dumbledore could answer. "He's hardly got anything keeping him there now."

"Enough!" Sirius barked. Every face in the room turned to him, stiff with surprise, and he added tightly, "Just listen, you lot. Hermione's got her reasons, but she can't tell you unless you shut up long enough to listen."

"Right," Hermione said, chewing on her knuckle, visibly nervous now that all eyes had shifted to her. She glanced at Dumbledore, who inclined his head, indicating that she should take the floor. "Yes, I brought this up with Albus first. And Molly—Moody—while I share your concerns, I don't think it'll be a problem. Harry won't be sneaking out to see me."

Understanding dawned in Arthur's eyes first. "You're going to sneak in to see him."

"I've been sneaking around Hogwarts for years," Hermione said, laying both hands flat on the table. "I know the school inside and out, and I've never been caught by a student—the teachers only know I'm there because they've learned to discern the faint shimmer of my Disillusionment Charm when I move, and Merlin knows how long it took them to do that. I'm not worried about being caught."

"I'm not worried about that," Kingsley contended calmly. "Your disguise is first-rate. What I am worried about is how this will affect Harry's Occlumency."

Tonks frowned. "What d'you mean by that? Snape's teaching him, isn't he?"

"Harry… isn't doing very well at Occlumency," Hermione hedged, but it was Dumbledore who gave them the complete answer.

"Voldemort may be able to read our movements through Harry's mind, if he gains enough access to it," he said simply. "This means that revealing Hermione could potentially jeopardize our position in the war."

"It's a risk," Hermione said slowly, calculatingly, "but I've decided that I'm going to try and help him learn Occlumency. He's got the potential, and Severus knows what he's doing, but it's just—they're not working well together."

Sirius let out a loud snort that conveyed exactly what he thought of this.

"It's a personality conflict," Hermione said, pursing her lips together into a thin line. "But I think I can get through to him—and if nothing else, I can motivate him, give him something to fight for."

"What else does he need to fight for?" Moody growled. "Keeping You-Know-Who out of his head should be an easy priority!"

"But it's not," Hermione returned calmly. "He saw Arthur get attacked by Nagini, he thinks he can use it to see things that are important, that might save peoples' lives. He doesn't fully understand the depth of danger he's put himself in."

"Bloody idiot," Tonks breathed.

"That's why I need to reveal myself to him," Hermione said, circling back to the issue at hand. "It's a risk, but I think I can make progress with him."

"And what, exactly, do you plan to motivate him with?" Molly asked.

There was a painful pause. Sirius looked away, not quite meeting Hermione's eyes. Her gaze switched to Dumbledore, as though in silent plea for him to release her from the obligation of answering, but he simply shook his head.

"Harry… doesn't know what the Weapon is," she began carefully.

She wasn't disappointed by their reaction. She'd expected protest and she got it, if the sudden uproar was anything to go by.

"Whoa, wait just a minute!" Tonks said, standing up. "You can't possibly suggest giving him that information, not when you've just said You-Know-Who's got access to his mind!"

"He's too young, he's not in the Order—"

"What possible reason could he need to know—"

"_Quiet!"_ Hermione didn't rise to her feet, but the imperious tone garnered her a moment of obedience, and she continued quickly, before she could be interrupted again, "The Weapon will be his motivation. It'll be something that he will absolutely not want the Dark Lord to know about—and the better he becomes at Occlumency, the more he'll find out."

"But—"

Hermione slammed her fist down on the table, making all but Dumbledore and Sirius jump.

"We have _got_ to stop treating him like a child!" She said, with an edge of cold fury to her words. "He's practically an adult—and if nothing else, he's already burdened with adult responsibilities. We do him a disservice by trying to protect him from important knowledge that he _needs to know._"

"He doesn't need to know _this_," Moody countered.

Dumbledore interrupted, "I disagree."

For a moment, everyone's attention snapped away from Hermione, now focused on the Headmaster with a kind of fierce intensity. The tension in the room could have been cut with a knife, but for a moment, Hermione was able to breathe easily as Dumbledore responded for her.

"Hermione's right," he said simply, "in saying that we have all treated him as a child—I myself am guilty of doing so, I'm afraid."

"But Albus—he _is_ a child!" Molly said.

"Not is," Albus corrected. "_Was_. Last year saw to that, Molly. And with Voldemort's return, we can no longer afford to protect him the same way we have when Voldemort was not an immediate threat. We often underestimate him, only to have him face challenges far greater than most grown wizards face in a lifetime, and overcome them."

Hermione swallowed. "Treating him like a child—trying to protect him—it just doesn't work, Molly. Harry isn't like that." She glanced down at the table, and realized her knuckles had turned white. She quickly balled up her hands. "It just makes him moody and depressed. He wants to help, and feels he has a right to help—which, I'm sure you'll all agree, he does—and when he feels useless, or like he doesn't have a purpose… he gets erratic and reckless. It makes him defiant and distrusting, and overall, nothing is gained by it."

Molly placed a hand over her mouth, unable to speak. Hermione looked away.

"I'm—I was Harry's best friend for five years," she muttered. "I know him well. I know how to help him."

There was a moment of silence, and then Moody finally spoke.

"That's all very touching, Snape," he said darkly, leaning forward, "but like I said, you always do things for a reason."

Hermione closed her eyes. A wan smile twitched at her lips as she replied, "You know me that well."

"Well?" Moody growled.

Hermione sighed, and forced her eyes open to look at him.

"We're going to use him to get the Weapon," she said.

~o~O~o~

That evening found Hermione slumped in an armchair, situated in front of the fireplace in their quarters at Hogwarts. When Severus finally stormed in that evening, she barely lifted up her head to look at him—her eyes were already half-shut.

"How was your day?" she asked dully.

"Almost as bad as yours," Severus sniped, removing his boots. "Why don't you tell me first?"

Hermione sighed and leaned back, eyes closed. "Bring me some of mulled mead first, won't you? I don't think I can do this without it."

There was a clink as Severus retrieved a glass, and a bottle of Rosmerta's mead that Hermione kept stocked for such occasions. "It was the Order meeting, wasn't it?"

"Right in one," Hermione mumbled drowsily, as the glass was pressed firmly into her hand. She lifted it to her lips, and took a tiny sip. "No one liked my propositions, for some reason."

"Of course they didn't. There couldn't possibly be any logical, sound reason for why they might disagree with you."

"Oh, do shut it," Hermione snapped tiredly, slowly sitting up in her chair as the mead revived her. She took another sip, licking her lips for a moment before she added, "But they conceded in the end. Is Harry going to see you for lessons over the Easter break?"

At this, Severus shifted uneasily, before his expression twisted into a scowl. "There won't be any. Or ever, for that matter."

Hermione jerked up in her chair so fast that she very nearly slopped the mead on herself. "_What?_"

"Potter," Severus spat, "took the opportunity to go through my memories—the ones I had set aside in the Pensieve—while I went to deal with Montague."

"One of your Slytherins? What happened to him?"

"_That's not the bloody point!_"

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. "I can hear you just fine," she bit out. "There's no need to yell. What did Harry see?"

"Two of them," Severus said viciously, now pouring himself a much-needed glass. "The first was the night you went after me in the tunnel leading to the Shrieking Shack." His fingers were shaky as he recalled the memory, and the bottle of mead trembled as he set it back down. "Where Black tricked me into going."

Hermione inhaled sharply. "And the other?"

"The one where I called Lily a Mudblood." He took a large draught from the glass, and then added, "The one where Potter and Black humiliated me by levitating me upside down, and removed my—it doesn't matter." The glass was set down on the mantle with a dull _thunk_. "The point is, I threw him out, and told him never to come back."

Hermione sighed, and sunk back down in the armchair. "I'll take care of it."

"I—what?" Severus's head snapped around to look at her, as though he hadn't quite heard her properly.

"I said I'll take care of it," Hermione snapped, rubbing her temple. "When are you free over Easter?"

"What do you mean, 'you'll take care of it'?" Severus asked suspiciously, coming to stand by her chair.

"Harry needs those Occlumency lessons," Hermione said, exhaustion weighing in her words. "You threw him out, so now he won't seek you out for lessons—I'll fetch him and bring him back so that you can continue."

"I will _not_—"

"Oh yes you will!" Hermione snarled, far too tired to deal with this. "That is an _order_, Severus! I won't do you the indignity of forcing you to hunt him down, but you will continue those lessons! Or rather," she said, slowly getting to her feet, "you'll continue to be there, and help me teach him."

"Teach him how?" her husband challenged. "He doesn't want to learn!"

"I've got a plan," Hermione muttered, in no mood to once again defend her decision. "I just need you to go along with it."

She watched Severus grind his teeth in frustration, and then wheel around and stalk toward the bedroom. The door slammed shut, though not with the force she would have expected—it was a rather controlled, muted slam, for which she was grateful. She lifted the glass of mead, and took a long, trembling sip before setting it back down with a tired sigh.

She didn't blame him for being in terrible temper. She was actually surprised he hadn't done more than just throw Harry out, after he had seen those memories. After he had been nosy and curious enough to stick his head in a bowl of memories that he obviously wasn't supposed to see. But Severus was going to have to continue to give him lessons anyway.

Maybe she should sleep on the armchair tonight. Or better yet, patrol the halls for a bit. Going to bed with an angry Severus Snape was—

The bedroom door suddenly opened. Severus, still noticeably sour but with a much calmer, perhaps even resigned expression, stepped out; He leaned against the door-frame, looking at her rather expectantly.

"Well? Aren't you coming?"

Hermione gave him a tired smile, sensing that the storm had passed. "Is that an invitation, love?"

"Always is," he muttered, as she crossed the room to join him. "Don't think I'll pretend to like this, though. I still think I should have thrown Potter out months ago and be done with it."

Hermione took his hand in hers, pressed her cheek against his chest, and breathed in deeply. "But I'm the ever hopeful, optimistic one," she said, a slight tease masking her weariness. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have put up with you after that first, botched detention we shared."

He laughed then, a low, rich chuckle. "Then how do you explain why I put up with you?"

"I don't," Hermione said with a smile, as she shut the bedroom door, much more quietly than he had minutes ago. "You just do."

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**Don't forget to leave a review! ;)**

**~Anubis**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks to _Meladara_, for getting this to me on such a tight schedule!**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

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_"The Present has passed—the Past has gone!  
The Future will come—once Two become One."_

_-Matthew Skelton_

* * *

It was the last day of Easter break, which had been surprisingly quiet. No more fireworks had been set off, but if you walked through the wrong door, you might occasionally come across a flying, sparkling pig gone feral or a lone whiz-bang still rocketing through its last moments. All in all, the castle had fallen eerily silent. Yet, despite the odd quiet, Harry and Ron finally seemed to notice that something was amiss. They had gone through the castle searching for her, had reportedly questioned her roommates if they had seen her, and finally checked with Professor McGonagall to see if she was on the list of students who had signed up to leave Hogwarts for the week-long holiday.

From her hidden observation, Hermione could see that the two of them had gone from annoyed to worried and had finally reached distraught over the next two days. Minerva had made a show of double-checking her list, and voicing suggestions on Hermione's whereabouts, she finally dismissed their concerns, telling them that if Granger didn't show up for supper, she would look into the matter more thoroughly. Harry and Ron both readily agreed to this, and Hermione could see why: They were still under the delusion that she might have simply ensconced herself an obscure corner of the library and not yet surfaced.

Yet, it was clear that her two best friends were trying to keep her disappearance quiet, for they were especially mum about what they were skulking around the castle for when confronted by Filch, Umbridge, or a member of the Inquisitorial Squad.

"We're just taking a walk," Ron sniped at Malfoy when the blond-haired Slytherin had intercepted the two of them, no doubt itching to write them up for a petty infraction and point-loss. "Not a crime, is it?"

Malfoy had managed to dock them twenty points for that, but at that juncture, neither of them seemed to particularly care. As Hermione followed them a few feet behind, Disillusioned and perfectly silent, she could see that they were growing increasingly concerned by her absence.

"Maybe if we check the library one more time," Harry muttered.

"Nah, we must've checked it a thousand times by now," Ron said in an undertone. "And Pince is starting to give us that look. Next time we go in, she might chase us out."

"And we already asked her if she'd seen Hermione," Harry said, sounding defeated. "She hasn't left for the holiday, and she's nowhere to be found." He exchanged worried looks with Ron. "Do you—you don't reckon something's happened to her, do you?"

"I don't see how," Ron said. "When was the last time any of us saw her, anyway?"

She watched Harry scratch the back of his head and frown. His eyebrows knit together a moment later, as though he had come up with the answer, and didn't like it. "I haven't spoken to her since the night we were caught. I just assumed she was around when Fred and George were setting off fireworks and went off to find a book to read in the middle of the mess, but… I haven't actually seen her."

She watched Ron work his jaw a bit for a moment, and then he said, "When I got back to the common room after escaping the Inquisitorial Squad, I thought she might have already gone up to bed— but I haven't seen her since we split up, after Dobby warned us."

"No one saw her come back to the common room?"

Ron shook his head.

"Have any of us checked the Room of Requirement?" he asked suddenly. "She might have gone back there—maybe she found something useful and lost track of the time."

"For two weeks?" Harry asked skeptically.

Ron scoffed. "She knows where the kitchens are. She could have snuck down for food. Maybe she found something really important—"

"More important than class and homework?" Harry asked, folding his arms.

"Well, we already found out that school isn't always her number one priority," Ron pointed out. "She agreed to do the DA because of that, didn't she? So maybe," he continued, carried away by the comfort of his building narrative, "she decided to skip class, up through Easter break, and avoid Umbridge and Filch by nipping down to the kitchens for food."

Harry rubbed his scar with the palm of his hand, thinking. "It's possible, but I doubt it. Still," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "why don't you check the Room of Requirement? I'll go down to the kitchens. It's worth a shot, anyhow."

He turned on his heels, now walking in her direction as Ron disappeared down the next corridor. Hermione waited until Harry was about to pass her, and then whipped out her wand in one hand, and wrapped her arm around Harry's neck in a chokehold with the other, the tip of her vinewood wand digging into the underside of his chin.

"Don't say a word," she whispered. "Or if you must, keep your voice down."

"Wh-who are you?" Harry asked, his words strained. She saw his hand itching toward his wand and without further hesitation, plucked it from his pocket. He tried to grab at it, and he was nearly as tall as she was now, but she kept it out of reach, with her own wand holding him at bay.

"Give me a moment." Hermione grabbed him by the back of his robes, and began half dragging, half leading him down the corridor, until they reached the door leading to the room of staircases. There was an empty classroom nearby, and she pulled him inside, bolting the door shut before turning her wand onto herself.

Harry had yanked himself away at the soonest opportunity, and his face seemed torn between suspicion and surprise as he watched the Disillusionment Charm melt away. She had considered charming her hair black, as she often did for a disguise, but settled instead for pulling it back in a chignon, masking just how long and curly it really was.

She held up his wand.

"If I give you this, will you hex me?"

Harry shook his head, his mouth opening and closing rapidly like a fish out of water as he took in her appearance. "You—you're—"

"I'm your godmother," Hermione said, dropping the holly and phoenix-feather wand into Harry's limp, outstretched hand. "I still can't tell you my name, I'm afraid. Feel free to simply call me Professor."

"That's what everyone calls you," Harry choked. "What are you doing here? Why now?"

"Because I can," Hermione said, straightening up to her full height, her expression neutral and passive. After twenty years apart from her best friend, and disguised as someone he didn't know very well, she wasn't exactly sure about how warm—or forthcoming—she should be to him. "However, right now, I'm here for a specific purpose: to teach you Occlumency."

Harry balked. "I—I've got the basics down," he muttered, instinctively refusing to meet her eyes with the realization that she must also be a Legilimens. "I don't need any more lessons. Snape—"

"—threw you out. He didn't declare you competent," Hermione said, leaning against one of the desks, arms folded. She raised an eyebrow at him skeptically. "And furthermore, you haven't been practicing."

Harry stiffened. He opened his mouth to give an excuse, but Hermione cut him off.

"I'm going to do something everyone else has been putting off for years," she said, fixing him with a serious gaze, but there was a hidden glint of something Harry couldn't quite decipher in her eyes. "I'm going to treat you like an adult. You've been complaining about how everyone's keeping secrets from you all year, haven't you?" she asked, slowly getting to her feet. She began to circle around the room. "They just tell you to keep your head down, don't get into trouble, don't worry about what the Dark Lord is up to," she said, ticking each item off with her fingers. "And, of course, to try and keep said Dark Lord out of your head. Am I correct?"

Harry's green eyes finally snapped up to meet hers. "Yeah," he said at last. "That's right."

Hermione came to a halt before him. "Harry," she said at last, her expression warm, "I know you. You're not the kind of person who sits around and does nothing when something needs to be done, and you don't shy away from a challenge."

Harry was gazing at her with rapt attention.

Hermione held a finger to her lips. "You've been wondering what the Weapon the Order keeps talking about all year is, haven't you?"

His eyes widened, and for a moment, she suspected he had forgotten how to breathe. And then he seemed to remember that she was waiting for an answer and quickly nodded.

"The reason no one has told you—and you, especially—is largely due to the unique, mental link you share with the Dark Lord," Hermione said quietly. "The Order's spent all year trying to keep any knowledge of it secret from him."

She saw Harry's eyes widen in understanding and ran with her advantage.

"But I've convinced Dumbledore—and the rest of the Order, for that matter—"

"Wait," Harry blurted. "They knew about you? All of them? The teachers, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley—they knew? All this time?"

Hermione nodded.

"O-okay," Harry said, but Hermione could tell this did not sit right with him. He was upset. "I mean—go on. You said you convinced them…?"

"They're willing to let me tell you about the Weapon, provided you develop the Occlumency skills to protect that information."

Harry gaped at her. She watched him absorb this revelation, not quite believing it, yet knowing perfectly well that she was being entirely honest and reasonable. He had no reason to not believe her; Sirius had said nothing but good things about her, and he had recognized her on sight.

"Does this—I mean—I won't have to continue taking lessons with Snape, will I?" he asked, almost warily.

Hermione folded her arms across her chest. "And if you do?" she asked, her tone perfectly casual.

She watched Harry weigh the situation. The possibility of information at the price of more 'remedial potions' with his most hated instructor took but a moment to balance; curiosity inevitably won out, and she watched his jaw set in determination.

"Alright," he said. "When do I start?"

Hermione pointed at the door. "Whenever you're ready to brave the dungeons," she said, offering him a slight quirk of a smile.

Harry grinned. For the first time since the fiasco with Dumbledore leaving, he looked genuinely happy, aside from the elation he had experienced when Fred and George's magnificent fireworks had run amok.

"One last question. Can I tell Ron?"

~o~O~o~

Severus's face broke into the scowl he reserved especially for Harry when Hermione opened the door to his office, revealing the Boy-Who-Lived to her irate husband. He took one look at the both of them, and then shoved aside the essays he had been bleeding red ink over and got to his feet.

"Well?" he asked snidely, as he retrieved his wand. "Managed to convince Potter to come back, did you?"

Hermione simply raised an eyebrow at him. "You did agree," she said, retrieving her own wand. "Did you put the Pensieve away—_properly,_ this time?"

Severus fixed Harry with a glare that suggested he wanted nothing better than to throw him out again, but then his expression turned oddly blank, cold and neutral. He inclined his head in a short jerk of assent, and then gave her a look that suggested his patience was running thin, and that she had better move this session along, and quickly.

It was all an act, of course. Or rather, for the most part. They weren't truly upset with each other, but their reactions were no less real. As always, there was a method to Hermione's madness. She turned to look at Harry, folding her arms across her chest.

"Harry, how would you describe Professor Snape right now?"

"I... what?" Harry asked, eyeing the Potions master warily.

"How would you describe him?" Hermione prompted again. "Cheerful? Content?"

At this, Severus let out a contemptuous snort of disbelief, and Harry actually blanched. "Er—no. He looks like he wants to hex me into horned toad and use me for potions," he muttered, not quite meeting the other man's gaze, but not backing down.

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "I'd agree. But despite the fact that he looks arguably angry enough to perhaps do you bodily harm, would you say he's got his temper well in hand right now?"

Harry looked at her as though she were off her rocker.

"What I mean," Hermione said, placing a hand on Severus's shoulder, "is that despite the fact that he's absolutely furious with you—I'd even say your presence alone raises his blood to decent bathwater temperature—you could hardly tell that just by looking at him."

Harry squinted his eyes, as though looking closely, but Hermione knew he was thinking carefully. "I suppose," he said at last. "I mean, you're probably a lot angrier than you look—sir," he added, addressing Severus with reluctant respect, no doubt trying to cool the bad blood between them enough for him to get some decent Occlumency lessons.

"You would be correct, Potter," Severus replied quietly. There was still bite to his voice, but he was at least affecting a tone of cordiality. "The reason she's asking you to observe this is because—as I've told you often enough—you must learn to control your emotions and not wear your heart on your sleeve."

Harry swallowed. "Fine," he said.

Hermione waved a hand. "Not to worry," she said. "If I were sadistic enough, I'd try to train you in Occlumency by having Professor Snape here verbally antagonize you while you try to defend yourself, or I'd teach you the same way Mad-Eye and Kingsley taught me, but I think that would be a tad extreme."

"You trained with them?" Harry asked, both impressed and surprised.

"I spent a summer learning to duel, fight off Unforgivables, and protect my mind from magical attack," Hermione told him cheerfully. "I also had a part-time job down at the Three Broomsticks while all of this was going on, but I suppose that's a tad irrelevant."

Severus suddenly jerked his head around to look at her. "So _that's_ where you learned Occlumency!" he snapped. "You never told me!"

"Slipped my mind," Hermione said innocently. "You never told me where you learned to duel, either."

"Yes, well, I certainly didn't learn it from a pair of Aurors," Severus said, and there was a slightly sullen sulk to his tone. "If I'd known, I'd have never…"

"I _did_ apologize for breaking your leg."

Severus waved it away with a dismissive flick of his wand. "Get to the point. I'm still curious as to how you plan to train a Gryffindor incompetent in the art of Occlumency."

Hermione steepled her fingers together. "I'm going to demonstrate what happens between a person performing Legilimency, and someone using Occlumency," she said, now addressing Harry. "Afterwards, I'm going to give you a piece of information—before you ask, yes, about the Weapon," she added, seeing the hopeful look on Harry's face. "And you'll take turns attempting to defend your mind against the two of us, but the whole time, your focus will be solely on protecting that one piece of information."

Harry seemed reluctant to ask, but he did anyway. "Why? I thought the point was to stop Vol—"

Severus let out a sound like an angry snake, and Harry quickly changed tracks. "—Know-Who from getting into my mind."

"It is, Harry," Hermione agreed, "but I've decided we're going to start small. I've noticed you do your best when you're focusing on something important to you, and since you don't seem to think the integrity of your mind is worth giving your full effort…"

"That's not it!"

"Oh?" Severus sneered. "Then do enlighten us, Potter, on the reason for the abysmal results of several weeks' worth of lessons."

Harry glared at him but managed to bite back a retort. "Vol—You-Know-Who attacked Mr. Weasley—"

Severus scowled. "We've been over this before," he ground out, but Hermione cut him off.

"He also became aware of your presence in his mind that night, too," Hermione told him calmly. "Next time you take a stroll through that mental link of yours, he'll quite likely be able to turn it around on you."

"And do what?" Harry asked, almost belligerently.

"Control you," Severus said, his voice low. "Possession, Potter! Or have you forgotten what he did to Miss Weasley to get her to open the Chamber of Secrets? She thought their connection was perfectly benign until it was too late to break it."

This seemed to startle Harry, and Hermione suspected he hadn't quite thought of it that way before. He looked ready to protest, but Hermione held up her hand.

"Regardless, we will start small," she iterated. "If Harry shows improvement, we'll increase the challenge and reward him with more information. Rinse and repeat." She turned and leveled her wand at Severus. "Ready?"

The man across her let out a low hiss of disbelief, as though he couldn't believe he was willingly subjecting himself to his, but then she saw his features stiffen as they always did when he had pulled up his inner walls. "Yes."

"Very well. Watch closely, Harry. Watch how he comports himself. _Legilimens!"_

~o~O~o~

Despite his distaste for the situation as a whole, finding himself in Snape's office, once again preparing to subject his mind to the exercises that would leave his head aching and scar prickling when he left, Harry couldn't help but watch Snape carefully as his Godmother turned her wand on him. Snape hardly moved a muscle in response, and his eyes were black and empty of emotion. They were cool, if not calculating, as the Professor entered his mind. By all appearances he looked relaxed, as though the Professor was merely pretending to turn her wand at him, but Harry was starting to notice the faint signs. The stiffness. The tightness. How controlled he was.

Five minutes into the exercise, far longer than Harry had ever lasted, Snape's brows suddenly furrowed, as though he had run into difficulty. Then a tic in his jaw twitched, and Harry watched Snape's fingers clench, the way they often did when he was itching to strangle someone. Harry's eyes broke away from Snape long enough to turn to his godmother, and he realized her hand was holding her wand so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

And then they broke apart. The Professor recoiled, as if struck, and Snape was panting.

"I suppose I deserved that," his godmother said weakly, rubbing her temple. "You've been waiting for an opportunity to use that for years, haven't you?"

"Serves you right," Snape muttered. "It's the same trick you used on me the first time."

"What did he do?" Harry asked, utterly bewildered by their exchange.

The Professor opened her mouth, but it was Snape who answered first. "It's a form of mental retaliation I've only ever seen her use." Harry wasn't sure if he was imagining the almost admiring, if slightly sullen look Snape threw his godmother. "Imagine, if you will, someone sticking their head through your kitchen window—eventually, you'll have enough of their neck that you can bring a cleaver down on them."

Harry visibly flinched at the macabre description.

The Professor winced. "It leaves the victim with a bit of a headache, but—I've always thought—it served them right." She pinched the bridge of her nose for a moment, as though trying to ward off the last of the pain, and then straightened once more. "Now you're going to give it a try."

Instinctively, Harry readied his wand, but Hermione shook her head.

"Mental exercises only, Harry," she chided. "_Protego,_ while effective, isn't what we're after."

It was with reluctance that Harry slowly slid his wand back into his pocket. _Calm your mind_, he told himself, his traitorous heart beating even faster as though in defiance of the command. _You can do this…_

The Professor leaned over to whisper into his ear.

"_The Weapon is a prophecy,"_ she murmured. "Take a moment to hide that away."

Harry closed his eyes. _A Prophecy? Like in Divination? It's rubbish, but then there was that Prophecy Professor Trelawney made at the end of third year—no, don't think about that now. Hide it! _He frantically tried to push all knowledge of the Weapon—the Prophecy—from his mind. _I wonder what it says… no!_

"On my mark, Harry. Three… two… one—"

The last thing he saw before his mind was invaded was Snape's smug, self-satisfied sneer. As though he already knew Harry was going to fail.

Harry gritted his teeth.

"_Legilimens!"_

* * *

**Please review!**

**—Anubis Ankh**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This is a short chapter, so you get a double-post this week while we get the ball rolling.**

**Enormous thanks to the wonderful _Meladara _for beta work! All errors that you see are mine.**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own. **

* * *

"No luck, mate," Ron told Harry glumly, shutting the door behind himself and flopping down on his bed. He took one look at Harry's face, and his expression hardened. "And I s'pose you didn't, either?"

Harry shook his head. He had a lot to tell Ron, but suddenly, his reinstated lessons with Snape and his first face-to-face meeting with his Godmother no longer seemed so important. Hermione was well and truly missing.

"We'd better go tell Professor McGonagall," Harry said decisively, rolling off his own bed. "I checked the Map again, and she's not on it."

Ron winced. "You're sure you didn't miss her?"

"Positive," Harry insisted. "And you already checked the Room of Requirement."

They exchanged looks.

"But—but where could she _be_?" Ron insisted.

Harry paused. "You don't think…"

"You-Know-Who?" Ron whispered. "He couldn't have gotten inside the school—could he?"

"If he could, he wouldn't be going after Hermione," Harry said convincingly. "He's after me, remember?" And, he wanted to add, that Voldemort had indicated nothing about Hermione in any of the strange dreams he had been having, but he kept that piece of information to himself. "No, there's something else going on here—I just can't put my finger on it."

He headed for the door, and Ron followed close behind. They scurried down the stairs to the common room and were about to push open the portrait when it pre-emptively swung open. Ron nearly knocked Harry over, who had to stop rather suddenly to avoid running directly into the Transfiguration Professor.

"Professor…" Harry began, but McGonagall cut him off.

"I was just coming to fetch you two." Her words were said rather tightly, and it seemed to Harry that she looked rather weary. "Come along."

"Professor, it's about Hermione," Harry began urgently, as they followed the Transfiguration teacher. "She hasn't shown up since—"

"I'm aware, Potter," McGonagall said stiffly, as they descended the stairs. "That's what this meeting is about, I'm afraid."

"Meeting?" Ron repeated.

They dodged a trick-step, and then McGonagall held open the door on the landing. "You'll see," she responded crisply.

Harry and Ron glanced at each other, and then they were ushered down the hall and into Umbridge's office. Umbridge was sitting at her desk, like a giant, lumpy pink toad contemplating an assortment of particularly juicy flies as the two Gryffindors reluctantly took a seat. Shacklebolt shifted until he was standing against the wall between the two of them, and Harry instantly felt safer. If Kingsley was here, then Umbridge couldn't do anything illegal to them. Harry hadn't forgotten that she had tried to slip Veritaserum in his tea.

Umbridge took a generous spoonful of sugar from a kitten-patterned pot and dumped it into her teacup, eyeing Harry and Ron under the pretense of taking her time in gently stirring her tea, but there was a certain, nasty eagerness in her eye that made Harry queasy.

"It has come to my attention that Miss Granger has been missing for quite some time now," Umbridge began sweetly. "She missed several classes, and did not sign up for permission to leave Hogwarts over break." A tap of the spoon against the teacup, and then she set it aside. "I have been very patient with you and your antics this year, Mr. Potter, but it has finally run thin. Where is Miss Granger?"

"I don't know," Harry responded, thinking quickly. Was this just an act on Umbridge's part, to pin Hermione's disappearance on them, or was she in the dark as much as the rest of them?

"Mr. Weasley?" Umbridge prompted, turning to Ron.

The red-head shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "I don't know. I haven't seen her."

Beside them, Harry could feel McGonagall shifting uneasily.

"Mr. Potter," Umbridge said, and her saccharine smile, which normally took several minutes of stonewalling to weaken, had quickly slid off her face. "You don't seem to understand the seriousness of the situation. Miss Granger has been missing for nearly two weeks, and neither of you saw fit to report her absence—"

"On the contrary," McGonagall interrupted tightly, "the two of them came to me this afternoon to tell me their concerns about Miss Granger's absence."

"Why did you wait so long to report it?" Umbridge demanded.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, neither wanting to say something particularly incriminating about Hermione, but not knowing precisely what to say, either. Fortunately, it was McGonagall who came to their rescue.

"Miss Granger is, and has always been, an exceptional student at this school," she said coldly. "There have been many occasions over the years where she has spent days, even weeks researching in the library, rarely to be seen by her peers. Her friends, I'm sure you understand, are used to such behavior."

Kingsley coughed into his hand at this, and Harry couldn't be sure, but he almost suspected the Auror was trying to hide a huff of amusement.

Umbridge narrowed her beady eyes at them. "If Miss Granger is well and truly missing..."

"We don't know where she is!" Harry said firmly.

"I hope you're telling the truth, Mr. Potter, because if you are covering for her—"

"We haven't seen her since you busted Dumbledore's Army," Ron interrupted bitterly.

"Are you saying that she didn't even make it back to her common room, Mr. Weasley?" Umbridge asked, in a falsely sweet voice. "Because if so, that is a serious concern.—"

"Erm—no," Ron said, looking at Harry. "I mean, I think she made it back—I didn't see her come back personally, I thought maybe she'd gone up to bed early—"

"And I got back late," Harry said, as though any of them needed reminding, "so I figured everyone else had gone up already. And after that, it was a bit—well..."

"Chaotic," Ron finished for him. At Umbridge's scowling face, he added brightly, "Y'know, what with the fireworks—"

"I haven't forgotten, Mr. Weasley," Umbridge snapped. She stood up. "I feel neither of you are being entirely truthful, and will give you both one last chance to come clean. _Where is Miss Granger?_"

"I don't know," Harry answered, a sinking feeling in his gut.

"Are you covering for her absence?"

"No!" He said vehemently.

He could see Umbridge's increasingly impatient agitation with him and at once knew that there was no way she could be responsible for this. It was obvious that she didn't want a student to go missing under her watch. That would certainly put a damper on her career as High Inquisitor.

_The world isn't divided between good people and Death Eaters.…_

_Be an adult_, he heard his godmother's words in his head. _Act like an adult. Think like an adult._ _Don't do something rash. Don't say anything that might endanger Hermione further…_

He saw Ron glance over at him and then twist around to eye Kingsley. If Shacklebolt was here, he'd get everything they said here, and maybe they'd even have an opportunity to talk to him privately. Tell him everything they know. They just had to bide their time and wait for Umbridge to finish with them.

"Are you going to keep questioning us, or are you going to open an investigation on her disappearance?" He asked, struggling to keep his tone cordial.

Umbridge hesitated and then glanced at Kingsley, who bowed his head.

"It's a matter of due course, Madam Umbridge," he said, his voice deep and soothing, but that wasn't enough to put Umbridge at ease. "Your interview didn't result in Miss Granger's discovery, and so I will have to file her in Missing Persons and open an official investigation."

"I—" Umbridge began, looking rather flustered.

"It will, of course, be up to her Head of House to inform her parents," Kingsley continued calmly.

"I-it couldn't wait, could it?" Umbridge said, her eyes bulging as she glanced back at the two boys and then at McGonagall. "An official report could wait until I do some more internal investigation—"

"I'm afraid not," Kingsley said, his expression perfectly serious. "Miss Granger has been missing for two weeks, and it seems clear that she is no longer at Hogwarts. I can't put this off further when it's clear that a student's safety may be at serious risk."

He turned his attention to Harry and Ron.

"I'd like to speak to both these boys before they go," he said. "Madam Umbridge, Professor McGonagall, if you would be so kind as to give us a few moments alone…?"

"Of course," McGonagall said, getting to her feet.

Umbridge looked as though she might protest, but Kingsley's unrelenting stance seemed to make her quail in badly-suppressed frustration. She left the room, followed a moment later by McGonagall, who shut the door firmly behind her.

Harry breathed in deeply, trying to calm his pounding heart, and then turned to Kingsley.

"Sir—about Hermione—the Order wouldn't happen to know where she is, would they?" he asked desperately, keeping his voice in a careful undertone.

To his surprise, Kingsley's eyes sparkled. "I wouldn't be too worried," he murmured. "I will, of course, be opening an investigation, but you needn't worry about her."

"So, she's alright?" Ron asked, looking enormously relieved. "Where is she?"

"I'm afraid that, for now, that is classified information," Kingsley said apologetically.

"That's not fair!" Ron muttered. "She's our best friend, we have a right to know where she's gone!"

Harry stood up. "My godmother visited me today," he said quietly.

Ron whipped around to look at him. "You kept that quiet!" he choked.

"I was more worried about Hermione, wasn't I?" Harry responded. "But she said that you—the Order—were going to start treating me like an adult. That you were going to start trusting me with information about the Weapon."

Ron goggled at him, but Harry ignored it. "So, why won't you tell us about Hermione?"

Kingsley pursed his lips, as though carefully thinking about how to phrase his next words. Harry had the sense that he was turning his words over carefully, possibly giving him the consideration he felt he was due as someone who was expected to act like an adult, rather than be treated like a child.

At last, he spoke. "I'm glad the Professor's finally made herself known to you," he said. "She's been dying to see you for a long time, and she's been your champion in Order meetings when we decide what or how much to tell you. But, there are some things that aren't my place to say, Harry. I'm sorry."

Harry swallowed. "I—I see," he said, trying to keep his words carefully neutral.

Kingsley placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hermione won't be here for a while, but your godmother will be," he said warmly. "Listen to her, Harry. Learn to close your mind, protect yourself. That will open doors to other things that are important to you."

He clapped another hand on Ron's shoulder.

"Stick by him, Mr. Weasley. We must always be able to count on our friends."

"R-right," Ron said, rather startled by this.

"Sir," Harry said, as Kingsley headed for the door. "Sir, my godmother…"

Kingsley's fingers were resting lightly on the handle. "Yes?"

"I…" there were so many things Harry wanted to ask, to say, to ponder, but he knew that they didn't have all evening in Umbridge's office. "I've only ever heard Voldemort's followers refer to him as the Dark Lord," he said finally. "The Professor calls him that, too. What do you suppose that means?"

Kingsley was silent for a long moment, and Harry had the odd sensation that he was being weighed.

"I don't suppose it means anything important," the Auror said at last. "I'd trust your godmother with my life, Harry. People pick up strange habits for interesting reasons."

He nodded at them both and then swept from the room.

~o~O~o~

"Blimey," Ron said the next morning, when they were able to find a place to talk privately. Their roommates had already gone to bed when they finally returned to Gryffindor tower, and neither wanted to risk being overheard on such a sensitive topic. They had nicked some toast from the Great Hall and then gone out by the lake. "Occlumency with your Godmother and Snape. That's a combination I wouldn't want to take."

"I don't know," Harry admitted, taking a bite. "It was odd, actually. They seemed to really know each other. He hardly reacted when she deliberately said something… you know, something to rile him up." He waved a hand. "And with her there, it wasn't as bad as before."

Ron looked at him disbelievingly, and Harry felt the need to elaborate. "She's teaching me to block my mind in steps, rather than making me do it all at once, like I was doing with Snape." He rubbed his forehead. "And my head doesn't hurt as much after she does it. It's like… I dunno."

"Well, You-Know-Who makes your scar hurt, doesn't he?" Ron said reasonably. "Maybe Snape was trying to copy that. You know, so that you're prepared for the real thing."

Harry frowned. "I doubt it. I don't trust him."

"Even if your godmother does?"

"Her judgment isn't perfect," Harry said. "Snape's different around her, just like he's different around Dumbledore or McGonagall. They're the ones he's got to fool."

Ron gazed at the lake thoughtfully. "Didn't you see her with Snape in first year?" he asked slowly. "With a toddler?"

Harry faltered. Ron continued, "And didn't Sirius say that they were friends, back in school?"

"He didn't _say_ it, but he got pretty defensive when I asked what she had to do with Snape," Harry muttered. "She was friends with my parents, too. She was a part of the Marauders. Sirius said she was brilliant—came late in the year—" he began ticking off each item. "Something happened to her when she was young, like a curse, that's why she couldn't show herself to me earlier. Maybe that's what she's got to do with Snape."

There was a pause.

"I've got to talk to Sirius," Harry said finally.

"Good luck with that, mate," Ron said. "The fireplaces are being watched, remember?"

~o~O~o~

"You've got to close your mind, Potter!" Snape snapped at him, a week and three sessions later. "Stop worrying about Miss Granger, and start focusing on protecting that useless clump of cells you call a brain!"

Harry winced and turned to look at his godmother, who was calmly sitting at Snape's desk. She was leaning back, hands folded in her lap, one leg crossed over the other. She was gazing at him strangely, and Harry had the sense that she was momentarily startled by Snape's words, because she jolted up slightly in her seat.

"Severus, that's enough," she said, a bit too sharply.

"I'm not worried about Hermione," Harry said, glancing over at his Godmother. He was telling the truth. "I've just been thinking about her a lot," he continued. "Where she is, what she's doing…"

"That's none of your concern right now," Snape said, his voice low.

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but the Professor cut him off.

"He's right," she told him, locking her brown eyes onto him. They were the same shade as Hermione's, Harry found himself noticing, but were harder, colder. But they also held something he couldn't quite decipher; it was a mixture of warmth and feeling. "You just need to focus on yourself, Harry."

Harry took in a deep breath, and tried to clear his mind. He'd been doing so well, so far. He'd actually been making improvement. He closed his eyes. He wanted to know more about the Prophecy, and to do that, he needed to keep making progress.

Umbridge, in her hijacked role as Headmistress, had delivered a speech to the students the Monday following break informing the student body that Hermione Granger had gone missing. She had phrased it so that it seemed as though Hermione had run away in a childish fit of pique or a tragic misunderstanding. She had described Hermione as a school-oriented girl, who had broken under the stress of upcoming OWLs, and was possibly mentally unstable. It made Harry's blood boil.

The only positive was that Umbridge seemed to want to keep this out of the papers as much as anyone, and had put up yet another Educational Decree forbidding students or staff from speaking to the press without explicit permission from the High Inquisitor.

He opened his eyes, and stared at Snape challengingly.

"Alright. I'm ready," he said.

"Yes," Snape drawled, readying his wand, "the world shall patiently wait while Harry Potter readies himself for a mental attack. Would you like a moment to prepare your epitaph?"

Harry ground his teeth but managed to bite back a retort. He saw the Professor nod approvingly at this and felt slightly better about not falling for Snape's bait.

"_Legilimens!"_

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**Please review!**

**-Anubis Ankh**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Here we go. Computer troubles almost meant I couldn't post today. **

**I also completely forgot that Snape had already used the epitaph line in OoTP: _"Would you like me to do it now? Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?" _Whoops. Thank you readers for catching that!  
**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

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"Harry's been making progress," Hermione said two weeks later, when they were all gathered at Grimmauld Place. Severus had been summoned earlier that evening, and hadn't returned in time to attend. "It's slow, to be sure, and he doesn't really have a talent for it, but he's coming along."

"Excellent," Minerva said approvingly, giving Hermione a rare, thin smile.

"How much have you told him about the Weapon?" Tonks asked, and Hermione knew she was trying to gauge Harry's current skill.

"Nothing vital," Hermione admitted. "The most he knows is that it's a Prophecy concerning both himself and the Dark Lord."

"And when do you plan to tell him where it is?" Moody asked roughly.

"As soon as I plan to take him there to retrieve it," Hermione replied. "That will come last—and, most importantly, when I think he's ready to hear it."

There were nods of agreement, some more reluctant than others, but invariably conceding.

"Next order of business," Kingsley said, smiling. "I officially listed Hermione Granger as missing last week, and I've added her to my caseload."

"So you're in charge of both the hunt for Sirius Black and my apparent abduction," Hermione said dryly.

"It's put a streak on Umbridge's career, that's for certain," Moody growled, looking rather self-satisfied. "First week as Headmistress, and she's already missing a high-profile student."

"And the fireworks," Arthur said, not quite meeting Molly's eyes. "Mustn't forget the fireworks."

Kingsley winked at him. "Naturally. Although they've been rather quiet for the past several weeks."

"They must be planning something big," Tonks said, looking hopeful.

"They'd better not," Molly said, just a bit too forcefully.

"Harry and Ron are dealing with your absence rather well," Kingsley continued, breaking apart the discussion before it could devolve into an argument. "They don't, of course, have the full details, but I thought it pertinent to assure them that you were safe."

Hermione nodded. "I appreciate that," she said quietly.

The meeting was quickly adjourned after that, and Sirius pulled Hermione aside before she could slip back to Hogwarts.

"Harry contacted me earlier this week," he said in an undertone.

"By Floo?" Hermione asked, narrowing her eyes. "Sirius—"

"No—no," Sirius assured her. "That's too risky. I gave Harry one of the mirrors James and I used to use while we were in detention…"

"Brilliant," Hermione said, and she meant it. "I don't know why he didn't think to use it earlier. I wish you had told me!"

Sirius shifted uneasily. "I think he didn't want to use it, at first," he admitted, "because I gave it to him so that he could tell me if—if Snape was giving him any trouble in Occlumency."

Ah. And Harry wouldn't want to risk Sirius storming into the castle to have a word with Snape for perceived maltreatment. "But you gave it to him anyway, and he—contacted you?"

"He had questions," Sirius said quietly. "About—about what James was like when we were kids, about you and where you fit into all of this, and your… connection with Snape."

Hermione pursed her lips. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him you and Snape were close in school," Sirius confessed. "Harry also told me about some of the memories he saw in Snape's pensieve—I won't repeat that to anyone else, I swear," he added, seeing the blood drain from Hermione's face. "As much as I hate him, I wouldn't—you know I wouldn't."

Hermione swallowed. "I know. What else did you say?"

"To be honest, very little else," Sirius admitted. "I think Harry just needed someone to talk to about this." He paused. "He did say that Snape is… deferential around you. That's what was bothering him the most, aside from what he saw James do."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Harry's bothered by the fact that Severus and I get along?"

"He's bothered by the rapport you two have," Sirius clarified. "He said it was like you two already knew each other from a long time ago—which is true, actually," he said, as Hermione made a moue of distaste, "which is why I told him you two were friends, back in school."

"Did that satisfy him?"

Sirius paused.

"I don't know," he said slowly. "I trust you with my life, and I've already told him that—but you have to admit, being a Death Eater's wife, you're treading a fine line between reality and disguise."

Hermione nodded. She uncrossed her arms and took his hand in hers, and gave it a friendly squeeze. "Thanks for telling me," she said softly. "It means a lot to me."

"You needed to know," Sirius said rather seriously, and grimaced. "Just don't tell Harry I told you. It was meant to be said in confidence."

"I won't say a word."

~o~O~o~

"The Dark Lord is growing increasingly impatient," Severus pronounced slowly, after he had returned to their quarters that evening. "He confided to me that he sensed the link between himself and Potter, and has been waiting for an opportunity to exploit it."

"And it's not working?" Hermione asked, delighted.

Severus smirked. "Potter has been avoiding the link, if not outright blocking it," he said. "The Dark Lord is growing worried that Potter is becoming a skilled enough Occlumens to keep him out—perhaps even throw him out, if he were to try and possess Potter through the link.

"Of course," he continued, "he knows that I've been giving him lessons, but he's attributing this improvement to natural skill, rather than any actual help."

"That's good," Hermione breathed. "That's excellent." She set down her notebook, which she had been scrawling furiously in. "Maybe—perhaps it's time to take him to retrieve the Prophecy," she said. "We're nearing the end of the school year, so we haven't much time left."

"I'll admit that if we stopped the lessons now, I could declare him adequately competent," Severus allowed, seating himself in one of the armchairs. "The question is how are you going to get him out of school, undetected?"

Hermione smiled.

"I've already got a plan," she said.

~o~O~o~

"Did you speak to Fred and George?" Hermione asked, as she led Harry into an abandoned classroom.

"They agreed," Harry said, shutting the door behind him. "I've got Transfiguration next—"

"I know. I already spoke to Minerva." Hermione checked that the door was secure, and then leaned against it. "Yesterday was your last official Occlumency lesson. Take a moment to celebrate."

Harry gaped at her, and then a grin spread across his face. "No more lessons?" he asked, as though to make sure.

"None, as long as you keep up your exercises," Hermione told him cheerfully. She paused, and then said, "Which means that I'm going to give you the final piece of information about the Weapon."

Harry looked at her eagerly.

"It's in the Department of Mysteries," Hermione said, keeping her voice low. "Row ninety-seven."

Harry's breath caught. "It's just—there?" he asked, his voice hushed. "No one's taken it?"

"No one _can_ take it," Hermione corrected him gently. "People were already harmed by trying."

"Then how—"

"Only the person or persons who the Prophecy is made about can remove it from the Hall of Prophecy," Hermione said quietly. "And that's where we'll be going, this evening. I've already arranged for Madam Pomfrey to tell everyone that you came to the hospital wing very ill when you should have been in Transfiguration, if anyone should ask."

She could tell Harry was thinking quickly. "That's it? We just go to retrieve the Prophecy, come back, and act like nothing's happened?"

Hermione shook her head.

"As soon as we bring it back, you're going to get a chance to hear it," she assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You, more than anyone else, have the right to know what that Prophecy says about you." Her eyes landed on his lightning-shaped scar. "After all," she murmured, tracing it lightly with her finger, "it's the reason you have… that."

Harry swallowed, and put a hand up to his forehead. "My scar?"

"The Dark Lord heard a portion of the Prophecy, which is why he sought you out," Hermione said. "But he didn't hear it all, which led to his first downfall. Now he wants to hear it in whole, to understand why he failed to kill you when you were a baby."

She tapped his forehead.

"Tonight, you're finally going to find out why he gave you this," she said.

There was a loud, sudden, tell-tale explosion from several floors above, and she smiled.

"That's our signal, I believe." She opened the door to the abandoned classroom. "Are you ready?"

~o~O~o~

They escaped through the same secret passage Hermione had used to sneak into Honeydukes with Severus so many years ago, slipping out of the sweetshop without being seen, and making their way down the High Street. Hermione Disillusioned herself, though Harry had wisely brought his Invisibility Cloak, and she led them inside The Three Broomsticks to use Madam Rosmerta's Floo. A pinch of powder, an explosion of emerald-green flames, and they each took a turn whirling into one of the many fireplaces lining the Ministry's Entrance hall, where the Fountain of Magical Brethren awaited them.

"This way," Hermione murmured, taking Harry's arm in hers. "Watch that no one runs into you—I'd cast some Repelling Charms, but those might make us more visible in a crowd… watch your step—here."

They'd made it inside one of the elevators, and squashed themselves into a corner to avoid knocking into the two witches and single wizard they shared their ride with. Several memos flew in and out, quickly settling in as the doors closed. Hermione quietly pressed the button for level nine and backed away.

"Who's going down to nine today, Dirk?" one of the witches asked.

Dirk shrugged. "I'm at four as always, Maggie."

"Really? I thought I heard one of the folks in your department talking about the Department of Mysteries yesterday…"

"What—oh, yes. Well, I think we've finally made some headway on identifying the properties of Goblin-made armor, so we're hoping the Unspeakables will take on the case…"

There was an exclamation of admiration from the other witch, and Hermione and Harry stepped out of the lift in time to avoid hearing the rest of the conversation. It was late in the afternoon now, and most of the Ministry workers were undoubtedly heading home soon, which meant that down here, it would be much less crowded…

"What's so special about Goblin-made armor, anyway?" Harry muttered, as they made their way to the door at the end of the corridor. "Hey—this is the same door as the one in my dreams…"

"Dreams you haven't been having anymore, I hope," Hermione said pointedly, as she and Harry quietly slipped inside.

"Erm—no," Harry said, as the door shut behind them. "I just remembered it—from before I started practicing, I mean."

"Good." They were in a large, blue-lit, circular room filled with doors. Hermione paused, and then approached the first one they saw. "Goblin-made armor has unique properties that wizards have envied for centuries, so any witch or wizard who can figure out their trick will make a fortune. And, of course, tick off the known Goblin population." She tried the first door. "We're not Unspeakables, so we don't know the trick to this—we're going to have to do this by process of elimination."

The first door was locked. Hermione tapped it with her wand, murmuring several spells to identify it, and then stepped back and drew a searing red 'X' on it. It glowed faintly for a moment, and then faded away.

She tried another door, and pulled it open. The room they peered into was dimly lit, surrounded by stone that descended into a pit. There was an ancient-looking archway with black, frayed fabric that fluttered forlornly. Hermione and Harry gazed at it for a moment, and then she pulled him back and quickly shut the door, carving another red 'x' into it.

"What was that?" Harry asked, as the room began to spin. "Hey—"

"I don't know, and I don't want to find out," Hermione said tightly. "Let's try another."

She flicked her wand, and both of the doors she had marked flared to life. Harry looked around at the remaining ten, untried doors, and she saw his fingers twitch in anticipation before he took a step forward and pushed the nearest one.

Hermione blinked, and carefully followed Harry into the next room, which was full of bright, glittering light—

"This is it," she heard Harry breathe, not quite listening as she gazed at a glass bell-jar on a desk, where a tiny hummingbird was rising and falling with the cycle of life. "The next room—it has to be…"

Hermione stopped by the shelf of Time-Turners—all of different shapes and sizes, but unmistakable. She was rather wary of Time-Turners now, after what had happened, but she couldn't help but be fascinated. So much time—so many possibilities—here, in this room…

"Professor—" Harry was standing by another door, holding it ajar. He had torn off his Invisibility Cloak, looking elated. "Professor, this is it!"

Hermione tore herself away from the Time-Turners and followed Harry into the next room. She let out a small gasp, as the sight of orbs—thousands upon thousands of dusty, spun-glass spheres—lined the room, shelf by shelf. Footsteps echoed as Harry began striding down the rows, and Hermione stopped, ears cocked for a moment, before satisfying herself that they were well and truly alone before jogging after him.

"Slow down," she whispered, as she caught up. Row ninety-five… ninety-six… "You don't want to bump into any of these accidentally—they might not look dangerous, but these are what put Bode in St. Mungo's, remember?"

Harry let out a sharp breath. "I'd forgotten…"

They stopped at row ninety-seven, and exchanged glances.

"This is it," Hermione murmured, slowly walking down the aisle. "It should be near the end…"

"Where are all the Unspeakables?" Harry asked in an undertone. "Shouldn't they be here…?"

"It's late," Hermione whispered. "We've been gone for longer than you realize. By the time we get back, I wouldn't be surprised if the Ministry were almost completely empty…"

They came to a stop, and Hermione pointed at the glass sphere that bore Harry and the Dark Lord's name.

"It's yours," she promised. "Take it."

Harry reached out with trembling hands, and Hermione watched him hesitate, and then snatch it up. Nothing happened. They both exchanged looks of almost giddy relief, and then Hermione motioned for him to pocket it.

"Put your Invisibility Cloak back on," she whispered, renewing her Disillusionment Charm. "We're leaving."

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief as they left the Hall of Prophecy, and slipped back into the brightly-lit Time Room. "You know, I thought—I thought this might be more difficult…"

"It might have been, if the Dark Lord had continued to share his obsession with the room with you," Hermione acknowledged. "But since you've blocked him out, he's come to believe you adamantly refuse to look yourself." She offered him a warm smile. "He doesn't know you as well as he would like to think."

Harry grinned, looking elated, and then his expression suddenly turned serious. "I've been wondering about some other stuff," he admitted.

"Like what?" Hermione prompted, knowing he was still a bit wary about prying.

Harry made a face. "It's just—you and Snape…" he began.

"Ah, yes," Hermione said, with a wry twist of her lips. "The two of you have never gotten along, I know. And you don't trust him."

"But you do," Harry said slowly. "And Sirius trusts you, but he doesn't trust Snape."

"That puts you in a bit of a bind, doesn't it?" Hermione agreed, as they slipped back into the circular chamber.

Harry gave her an odd look, as Hermione firmly placed her hand on the door opposite of the first door she had marked—the locked door—and pushed it open, revealing the dimly-lit corridor that led back to the upper levels of the Ministry.

"Why don't you think for yourself?" Hermione prompted, as they made their way back to the lift. "Decide whether you trust me based on what's an important factor in determining trustworthiness, and not on whether Sirius is my best friend, or Severus is someone I knew from my school years. I think," she continued, as they stepped into the now-empty cage, and pressed the button for Level Eight, "You'll be a lot happier if you do it that way."

"You're not bothered that I don't trust you?" Harry asked with surprise, as the lift shuddered close and slowly began to rise. "I mean, I trust you, given all you've done for me, but I—"

"I'd be more bothered if you didn't learn to think for yourself," Hermione told him. "True—it's good to learn to trust the judgment of your friends, but it's also important to be able to look at things carefully when they don't sit right with you. And the truth is," she said, as they stepped out of the lift, "you really don't know me. You have every right to be wary."

"You're rather straightforward about this," Harry said frankly.

Hermione gave him a wicked smile. "Did I ever tell you I was in Gryffindor?"

The Atrium was empty as they stepped out, and the two of them invisibly made their way over to the Floo chambers.

"Harry, do you have the Map on you?" Hermione asked suddenly.

"The what?" Harry asked, surprised.

"The Marauder's Map. Do you have that on you?"

Harry began fiddling with his pocket, and then pulled out the yellowing sheet of parchment. Hermione held out her hand for it, and he gave her a hesitant look, before doing so. She unrolled it, and then tapped it with her wand.

"_I solemnly swear I am up to no good…_"

"You know how to use the map!" Harry exclaimed in a hushed undertone.

"Of course. I was with the Marauders, wasn't I?" Hermione said lazily, as she perused the map, searching for Umbridge. "She's not in her office—she's patrolling the corridor just outside the Hospital Wing… we can use her Floo to shortcut."

She folded the map back up and handed it to Harry, who stuffed it back into his pocket. Sudden footsteps behind them, however, made Harry and Hermione wheel around.

"Who's there?" Lucius Malfoy demanded, striding across the room.

Hermione hesitated, and then shoved Harry toward the Floo. Harry fumbled with the Floo powder for a moment, and she unveiled herself just as the flames turned emerald green.

"It is I," she said calmly, pointing her wand at Malfoy. "And what are you doing here so late, Lucius?"

"For someone who's supposed to be a missing woman, you're uncommonly easy to find," Lucius drawled, coming to a stop. Hermione saw his hand twitch toward the head of his cane. There was the sudden whoosh as the flames turned red again, signaling Harry's departure, and he snapped suddenly, "Who's with you?"

"No one," Hermione quipped. "They're gone now, aren't they?"

Lucius's nostrils flared angrily, and he took a step forward. "What were you doing here, tonight?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Hermione said, reaching for a pinch of floo powder with one hand, her wand still pointed at the blond man with the other. "It's a little late to be paying the Minister a visit, isn't it?"

Lucius's wand whipped out, and Hermione stepped forward, one foot in the flames.

"You went to the Hall of Prophecy, didn't you?" Lucius whispered. "Of course. That must mean you brought Potter with you here tonight…"

"No proof," Hermione said happily, swinging her other foot into the fireplace. Malfoy's wand jerked in her direction, and she waved her hand at him in farewell as she almost unintelligibly uttered, "_Umbridge's office, Hogwarts!"_

She spun away in time to see a jet of red light aim for her, only to land impotently in the brick wall behind her head. The world rotated dizzily for a moment, and then she managed to right herself and step out into Umbridge's seemingly-empty office.

Harry tore off his Invisibility Cloak once he saw it was her.

"What was Mr. Malfoy doing there?" he asked fiercely.

"Any number of things, I suppose," Hermione said, brushing her robes off. "Paying a visit to the Minister, sneaking around the Department of Mysteries—probably gone to check that now, actually…you know how it is." She shrugged, and spelled her boots clean of soot. "The usual things villains do when they've been thwarted."

Harry goggled at her. Hermione grinned.

"You ought to go off to bed," she told him. "I'll let you keep the Prophecy for now, but don't break it. Keep it safe until I meet you tomorrow." She ruffled his already messy hair, and then tugged the Cloak back over his head. "Finish up your classes, and then come join me in Minerva's office. You can bring Ron, if you like."

They ducked out of the High Inquisitor's kitten-infested office, and silently made their way back up to Gryffindor Tower. Hermione made sure that Harry returned to the common room safely, though she halted him as an afterthought, just before he woke up the Portrait.

"Harry, would you mind lending me your Map?" Hermione asked in an undertone, as the Fat Lady snoozed away. "Just for a bit. I know the last person you lent it to wasn't who you thought it was, but I sneak around the castle all day, and it would be rather useful…" she trailed off.

The real reason was that she didn't want Harry to spot her name on the Map. Not yet. So far, he hadn't spotted her, those few times she had been in the castle while he had checked, but she didn't want to risk a slip-up now. And if she could persuade him…

Harry hesitated. She knew he was thinking it over carefully, gauging his previous bad experience with the time he had spent with her. Improving Occlumency, getting the approval of the Order to learn classified information, one of his parents' best friends… someone they had trusted enough to make him his Godmother…

Someone who called the Dark Lord by his self-appointed title. Someone who was friendly with Severus Snape, a man Harry didn't trust. Someone who always had a cold, hardened, slightly wounded appearance about her, as though there were some things from which she would never fully recover. Dark secrets, he was sure, that she would never willingly reveal. And yet….

There was a crackle of old paper as he retrieved the Map once more, and after a pause, pressed it into her hands.

"Take good care of it."

"I'll give it back after your exams," Hermione whispered. "Promise."

They woke up the Fat Lady, who was rather annoyed, but let Harry in all the same. Hermione waited until the Portrait had dozed off again, and then began making her way back down to the dungeons.

"We did it," she told Severus, pulling back the bedcovers. She hadn't even undressed—she was too excited for this to wait. "We got the Prophecy."

Severus cracked a tired eye open, and then rolled over to make room for her. "You missed the show," he mumbled. "The Weasley twins left today—they went out with a bang, so to speak."

"They left?" Hermione repeated, bewildered.

"One last prank to advertise their new joke shop," Severus sneered, draping his right arm over his face. "They've already got premises in Diagon Alley. Discounts for all students who use the products to get rid of Umbridge." He let out a weary sigh. "The next few weeks are going to be hell, I'm sure."

"You're not the one who's going to have to deal with Molly," Hermione said, eyeing their bedroom door warily, as though expecting the Weasley matriarch to come storming in to take her to task. "It was my idea for Harry to convince them to give us a diversion."

"They didn't look like they needed much convincing," Severus muttered. He let out a low huff, and then pulled his arm away from his face to look at her. "You got the Prophecy?"

"That's right," Hermione replied happily, snuggling up against him.

Beside her, she heard Severus inhale deeply, and then let out a long, weary sigh.

"I am going to be in for a _very_ rough week, for this…"

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**Please review!**

**-Anubis Ankh**


	6. Chapter 6 & 7

**A/N: Combining chapters 6 and 7 together to make a super-chappie. Rejoice. I am posting this now instead of on Monday.**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

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Harry spent the next day anxiously waiting for classes to end. He had whispered as much as he could to Ron in-between bites of breakfast, describing the Department of Mysteries in as much detail as he dared, and talking about the dusty-looking Prophecy they had retrieved. He had stuffed it in a pair of Uncle Vernon's old, mustard-yellow socks that he had received as a Christmas present earlier that year, rolled it up, and put it in the pocket of his robes. He wasn't letting it leave his person until he got to hear what it said.

The day, however, could not have passed any slower. History of Magic dragged on as usual. Potions was a disaster, with Snape snapping and tearing off points at every opportunity for a slightly sub-standard brewing of a Babbling Beverage. Defense Against the Dark Arts was, at least, entertaining—half the class walked in, only to start fainting or vomiting within minutes of sitting down. Seamus managed to pass Harry the battered box of Puking Pastilles the students had been distributing under their desks, and he and Ron were among the many students who were dismissed early from class.

This made Harry half-wish he had not given his Godmother the Marauders' Map. He would have liked to spend the time skiving off Defence checking it to see what she was up to—and then remembered that he would have needed her name to do that. But he was sure he could have figured it out. Once or twice, he thought he saw a shimmer in the halls, but he wasn't about to start blindly wandering through the corridors with his hands outstretched—there were enough rumors about his mental stability going around as it was. He continuously checked his pocket for the Prophecy, and was relieved each time to feel it secure on his person.

He was on his way toward Transfiguration when he felt his scar prickling. He stopped in the hall and closed his eyes, forcing himself to block it out. He could feel Voldemort's rage leaking through their link, and realized that he must have just now found out about the missing Prophecy.

_Close your mind…_ he recited to himself, mentally building up his walls. Ron bent down to tie his shoelace, pretending that they had stopped for him. _Think of nothing… let it go blank…_

He felt the pain receding, and then forced up a mental block to lock out the rest of Voldemort's thoughts, like someone closing the door in a murdering ax-wielder's face, bolting it shut, and pushing a heavy bookshelf across it. He opened his eyes again, inhaled deeply, and nudged Ron to let him know that they should hurry when a shadow loomed over them, causing them both to turn around.

"…Potter. Weasley," Snape sneered. "Ten points each for being late to your next class."

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Harry stepped on his shoe, indicating he should keep quiet.

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered. "Sorry."

He knew there was no point in trying to explain himself to Snape. He would just get penalized for not being good enough to block out Voldemort without stopping to make a big production of it. Twenty points was nothing, compared to the potential loss of learning what the Prophecy said if Snape suggested to the Professor that he, Harry, was not ready to hear it.

They turned to leave, and Harry thought he heard a familiar female voice murmur, "Really, Severus, was that necessary?"

Transfiguration was concluded with little fanfare, though several students did use it as an opportunity to mix up and replenish the contents of their Skiving Snackboxes so that they wouldn't have to do it in the halls where Umbridge might catch them. McGonagall pretended not to notice, and as soon as the last bell rang, he and Ron stood up and prepared to leave.

"Potter," she said, halting them in their tracks. "Weasley. Would you mind carrying some of these books to my office?"

The two of them exchanged glances, and then took an armful each of the Seventh-Year Transfiguration texts McGonagall had stacked on her desk. They waited a moment for her to collect the papers she needed to grade, and then silently followed her back to her office.

"Ten points each to Gryffindor, for your assistance," she told them, as they set them down on her office desk. The sound of a lock sliding closed caused both boys to wheel around, and Harry let a grin spread across his face as he realized his godmother had been hiding behind the door, waiting for them. "And Professor, do keep Severus's temper in check next time. I'm tired of having to restore all the points he keeps taking off."

"Sorry, Minerva," his godmother said, folding her arms.

Harry was shocked to see McGonagall offering the Professor one of her rare, wry smiles. Ron was gaping at his Godmother, and it wasn't until she raised an eyebrow at him that he finally realized how foolish he looked, and managed to compose himself.

"Hi," he said, staring at his shoes. "It's nice to meet you."

His godmother laughed. It wasn't a cruel one, or at Ron's expense—it was a musical, delighted sort of laughter, the kind that people made when they were genuinely pleased. "Ron Weasley. I know it's a bit belated, but congratulations on making Prefect." She offered out her hand. "And, of course, on your new Cleansweep."

Ron's face turned red as he shook her hand. "Thanks," he mumbled. "Although I'm not… I mean—"

"Ron's the best Keeper we've ever had, besides Oliver," Harry said stoutly.

"I'm the _only_ Keeper we've had, besides Oliver," Ron said.

"And you're a fine one," the Professor said, without reservation. "When you believe in yourself, of course. Now," she said, clasping both hands together. "Harry, the Prophecy?"

Harry pulled out the ugly mustard-yellow socks, and began worming the glass ball out of it. As soon as he had it free, he held it up for them to see.

"That's it?" Ron said, eyeing the dusty, spun-glass sphere. "How do we get it?"

Hermione indicated the section of floor that wasn't covered by carpet, just in front of the fireplace. "Go ahead and drop it, Harry."

Harry took in a deep breath, and then let go.

There was a loud breaking sound, as the glass orb shattered apart, smashing into a million tiny, crushed pieces. And then something wispy and white rose from the orb, taking on a vaguely familiar shape, even as words floated hollowly from it.

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"_

The misshapen form of Professor Trelawney faded away, leaving behind the broken shards of what had been the Prophecy Record containing his and Voldemort's fate. Harry stared at it, not quite sure of what to make of it. Part of him felt blank, as though he couldn't believe that this was all there was to it—the other part was furiously committing each word to memory while trying to make sense of it.

"That," his Godmother said quietly into the silence that followed, "was the Prophecy made by Professor Trelawney to Professor Dumbledore, sixteen years ago."

"Blimey…" Ron said weakly.

"So that's it," Harry whispered. "That's how it's all going to go down…"

"The Prophecy," his Godmother said, bending down and sweeping up the shards into a small pouch she had conjured, "is only relevant because the Dark Lord made it so." The pieces squirreled themselves away into the bag, and she tied it shut and handed it to him. "If he had never heard of the Prophecy in the first place, he never would have sought you out. But because he not only heard the prophecy, but chose to fulfill it, he gave it meaning."

Harry held out his hands, and she dropped the pouch into his palms. He closed his fingers around it, feeling the fragile remains of the record that finally explained what he himself had wondered for so many years.

"Don't set too much store by it, Harry," she told him warmly. "That was the Dark Lord's mistake. It led to his first downfall, and it will inevitably lead to his second, in all his vainglorious arrogance. Don't make the same mistake he did."

Harry nodded.

"I think I understand," he said quietly. He looked up at her, and for the first time, despite the hardness lurking in her eyes, he saw it—the warmth and care hidden in those murky brown depths. "Thank you, Godmother."

~o~O~o~

Over the next several weeks, Harry joined the other students in their continued mission to subvert Umbridge in all of her classes during the day, while privately battling out Voldemort at night. The Dark Lord was enraged beyond comprehension, and it took all of Harry's willpower both to keep him out and stop himself from giving into curiosity. He was starting to feel the danger behind the link that Snape and his godmother had spoken of, and was doing everything within his power to keep it firmly locked away.

A week after the Prophecy had been removed, the gossip and mutterings circulating the Ministry finally leaked, and the _Prophet_ reported that the record had gone missing. There was an uproar, and two editions later, they finally seemed to realize that it had something to do with Harry, and all bets were off—they ran anything and everything they could think of about how Harry Potter might be involved in the break-in and theft of property from the fabled Hall of Prophecy. It was maddening.

He and Ron often discussed the Prophecy when they were certain they would not be overheard. Ron remarked that Hermione would be furious that she missed such an interesting piece of information, but Harry rather thought she would be more proud of the fact that he was now successfully keeping Voldemort at bay.

The subject of exams and careers had come up, but at this point, Harry was no longer certain about what he wanted to do. He had always fancied being an Auror, but now he was questioning his motivations.

_Am I doing it for myself, or because I feel it's my destiny?_

He eventually settled on being an Auror anyway, deciding that Voldemort or no, he rather liked the idea of bringing dark wizards to justice. Of making the world a safer place, so that the people he loved wouldn't have to. The meeting with his Head of House, however, was rather disastrous. Umbridge's presence and insistence on his incompetence in her class had caused the meeting to devolve into a shouting match. Harry left, feeling extremely uneasy, and hoping that McGonagall wouldn't suffer for going head-on with Umbridge.

He was starting to get better at catching his Godmother in the corridors, in-between classes or during breaks. At lunch, she could often be found browsing the library. During double Potions, he often saw her sitting at Snape's desk—this was further supported by the fact that he would occasionally see Snape turn to scowl in her direction, and suspected the Professor was partaking in some recreational Snape-baiting.

During the final week before exams, when they were freed from class to do some studying, his Godmother would often join them out by the lake to help them. Voldemort had turned oddly quiescent, and Harry had been able to relax his defenses just a fraction.

"I remember my own OWLs," his Godmother reminisced fondly, as she quizzed the two of them on Switching Charms. "Weeks of nonstop studying, mental breakdowns, and then I had to chase after the idiot who decided to see if the rumors about Remus being a werewolf were true. That was a fun way to end the school year."

Ron laughed, and Harry bit his tongue to refrain from asking if that idiot had been Snape. He didn't need to. He'd already seen the memory in the pensieve.

Still, he trying to figure out clues that might help him piece his Godmother's identity together.

"You used to teach here, didn't you?" he asked one evening, as they walked back up to the castle. She had brought a cup of tea from the kitchens with them, and was refilling it with a tap of her wand as they their way to the stone circle.

"Used to," she replied evasively, taking a sip. "That was a long time ago."

"What made you quit?" Harry asked off-handedly.

"A lot of things," she dodged, as they passed Hagrid's hut.

"Was it because you had a kid?" Harry asked, thinking of the toddler he'd seen her holding.

She nearly choked on her next sip, and the cup hit the ground and smashed. Harry had to thump her on the back, and when she finally straightened, he suddenly got the sense that he had asked something very wrong.

"How did—you know—did Sirius—"

"Sirius didn't tell me anything," Harry said defensively. "I saw you in my first year—it was after a Quidditch match, I saw Snape and Quirrel in the Forbidden Forest—"

He heard her mutter, "Oh gods…"

"Look, I—I'm sorry for asking," Harry said frankly. "Is he supposed to be a secret or something?"

Invisible hands grabbed the front of his robes, and he was hauled forward until he was face-to-face with her.

"No one—_no one_—is supposed to know about him," she said fiercely. There was an edge of desperation to her voice, and, Harry thought, it reminded him of the same way the Dementors had made him hear his mother's pleads for his life. The kind of desperation of a mother protecting her child; there was no way he could mistake it. "If the Dark Lord were to find out about him—if someone in the Order were to find out and accidentally let slip—"

"I won't tell anyone," Harry whispered, clutching her hands away from his chest so he could breathe. "I won't say a word—hell, I'll hide it under everything else—I didn't know!"

He felt her trembling and shaking in place, and then she let go. He watched her form shimmer and disappear in the growing darkness of the grounds, and exhaled sharply in relief even as he began pulling apart his fuzzy memories of her in his first-year, and burying them under so many other mundane thoughts.

So, she had a son. He was a secret. And, it seemed, a very sensitive subject. He made a mental note to tell Ron to never bring it up with her. He rather liked Ron, and wasn't keen to see him end up as a stain on the wall.

And he found himself wondering, for the thousandth time, where Hermione was and what she was doing.

~o~O~o~

Harry couldn't tell if his godmother was avoiding him, or if he was just genuinely too busy for her to interrupt him. He hadn't seen her since he had mentioned her son, and was too wrapped-up preparing for his Potions practical to go search for her. The week started to blur, with written and practical exams falling in line one after another, and his scar was starting to act up again, forcing him to use his mental faculties to shut it down.

He was sure he saw her during his Astronomy exam. Umbridge and several Aurors had tried to sneak up on Hagrid and evict him during the night, and he had seen a tall, female shadow cast in the doorway when the half-giant answered the door. She whipped out her wand at one point, and the Aurors did the same, but no spells flew. Eventually, Umbridge let out a shriek that was audible half-way across the grounds, causing several of the students to look up from their exam and see what the commotion was about.

"I don't _care_ if she tells the _Prophet!_ Get him!"

He saw his godmother snap back a retort at them, and one of the Aurors—Dawlish, by the looks of it—reluctantly backed away and said something to Umbridge. He saw her shaking in fury, but whatever his godmother had said or done, it worked—she was forced to withdraw back to the castle, and the Professor snapped Hagrid's door shut behind her.

Harry had returned to his exam then, but every so often, he saw shadows through the lit window of Hagrid's hut that suggested they might actually be celebrating. He grinned, and finished up his exam in good time. He considered sneaking down to visit Hagrid, but stopped when he remembered how close he was to being expelled as it was. He couldn't risk it. His godmother would be furious if he did.

He found time after his Care of Magical Creatures practical to talk to Hagrid.

"Don' know why yeh're surprised, yer godmother's an old friend o' mine," Hagrid told him, as he watched his celebratory rock-cakes cool. "Course, she hasn't had much time ter come down lately, but I'm glad she was here las' night." Hagrid let out a chuckle. "Threatened to tell the _Prophet_ about Hermione disappearing, she did. Said it would be the end o' Umbrige's career, instead o' mine. On'y Dawlish had the good sense ter tell her that Hermi—" he suddenly broke off, looking as guilty as Harry had ever seen him.

"What?" Harry asked. When Hagrid didn't answer, he pressed, "tell her what, Hagrid?"

"Well, ter tell tha' old toad that the Professor was right, didn't he?" Hagrid said, not quite meeting Harry's eyes. "Tha' if Hermione's disappearance hit the papers, it'd be all over fer her."

"Hagrid," Harry said. "Where _is_ Hermione?"

In response, Hagrid offered him a rock-cake. Harry politely declined, but got nothing more out of the half-giant, who seemed determined to keep his mouth shut with the mortar-like consistency of his cooking.

Harry was starting to wonder if perhaps Hermione was hiding out with Dumbledore. Maybe he had decided to take the most brilliant student of the school with him. Maybe Hermione had insisted on going with him—that sounded like something she would do, he decided. Maybe her disappearance was all part of a plan by the Order to destabilize Umbridge's reign so that when the year ended, Dumbledore might be able to clear his name and come back.

Friday finally arrived, and he was relieved to get his last exam—History of Magic—out of the way. He wasn't sure if he got the details on which Goblin Wars had occurred when and for what reasons, but he was relatively satisfied, and extraordinarily pleased that the freedom of summer was just barely within his grasp.

"Thank merlin," Ron moaned, flexing his fingers. "I thought it would never end!"

"So much for Ordinary Wizarding Levels," Harry had muttered darkly. "Next year is going to be a nightmare."

"No wonder Fred and George bailed out," Ron grumbled. "Lucky gits."

"And Hermione didn't have to take this year's exams," Harry said, rubbing his temples. "Lucky her."

"She's probably disappointed," Ron said, now smiling slightly to himself. "What would I give to switch places with her—she would have taken on the exam, no problem."

"Well, hopefully, she'll get a chance to take it next year," Harry said, as he staggered up the stairs to the boys' dormitory. He yawned. "At least I won't have to take History of Magic. I'll be happy if I never hear the words 'Goblin' and 'rebellion' in the same sentence ever again."

~o~O~o~

Harry's dreams that night were filled with the surreal absurdity that dreams often provided, when one was relaxing after a stressful day, and too mentally exhausted to try and wrestle a dream this way or that.

_ He found himself following Hedwig to the Forbidden Forest on a sun-drowned afternoon, whereupon she morphed into Buckbeak, and landed at the edge of the lake. Harry found himself feeling shorter than usaul, as Buckbeak was once again a size much too large for a third-year, but he climbed aboard anyway, reveling in the rush of flight._

_He could see his reflection in the water, as they skimmed over the lake; and then the world seemed to morph into the odd, sea-blue pattern of the circular room in the Department of Mysteries. His vision floated through the door that led into the bright and glittery room of Time. Hermione was there, eyes alight with the joy of discovery as she fiddled with the Time-Turners. Harry watched her for a moment, sleepily content with the comforting familiarity of this odd dream, and then came to stand beside her as she watched the hummingbird in the glass bell-jar._

_It was pushing its way out of the egg, and it slowly rose into the air, shedding its downy feathers and gaining the shiny, opalescent colors of its prime. It glittered for a moment, and the scene changed before it could begin to lose its splendor. Before Harry knew it, he was walking down a cobbled courtyard in front of a beautiful mansion, far grander and better-kept than the place Harry had seen that night in the Graveyard. _

_Faces were beginning to emerge, and dark shapes were beginning to take on familiar forms. And then the people solidified, and Harry realized he was watching Snape and his Godmother. Her arms were bound behind her back, and at her feet, Harry watched Nagini slowly slither out from the hedges on either side, and realized that he was watching this from the ground-up. This was through the snake's eyes. A feeling of cold dread trickled through him. Snape's face was expressionless as he flicked his wand at the iron-wrought gates, and they creaked open._

_This no longer felt like a dream. _

_Harry felt a sickening feeling settle in his stomach, followed by inconsolable, boiling rage as he watched Snape lead the Professor into the courtyard and up the steps to the front hall. The scene blurred a bit, but resettled as his godmother was led into a large dining room. A long, wooden table was set out on one side, barren of silverware; the room was strangely spartan for such a fine mansion, except for a single, wooden chair in the center of the room. Lucius Malfoy was eyeing the two of them coldly from the balcony above, his gaze narrowed at the Professor in contempt._

_Harry watched his godmother stiffen at the sight of the chair, but then her eyes hardened, her face set. There was a shadow of movement out of the corner of his eye, and he wheeled around to see Voldemort, scaly and gray, as serpentine and inhuman as ever._

_"Severus," Voldemort hissed, his voice high, cold, and full of dark amusement. "So good of you to come."_

_"I've brought her, my lord," Snape said, inclining his head. "As you requested."_

_Harry's scar was starting to pain him, more than ever now, and at once he began trying to shut it out. This was a dream—yet it was more than a dream—Snape was pushing her into the chair now, binding her to it with thin, silvery cords—this felt like when he had seen Mr. Weasley attacked, it was too real—Voldemort was laughing, threatening to kill her if Harry didn't bring him the Prophecy—_

"Harry—Harry!"

_He was trying to pull away, but it was as though Voldemort had not only lured him into this nightmare, but meant to trap him, too—_

"HARRY!"

_Desperate and near-panicking, Harry imagined constructing a giant cleaver over the strand of connection between himself and the Dark Lord, and brought it down with as much force as he could muster—_

Harry shot up, cold sweat running down his face, breathing hard. Ron was looking at him with an expression that fell somewhere between terror and curiosity, and Harry knew there was no use in lying to Ron: it was plain as day that he had failed. Voldemort had broken through the link, and deliberately shown him what had happened to his Godmother, and what he would do if Harry didn't give him what he wanted.

"Harry," Ron breathed. Behind him, Harry saw Neville was up, and peering down at him worriedly. "What did you see?

"It's my Godmother," Harry choked, struggling to get out of bed. Ron moved aside, and Harry nearly tripped over himself as he scrambled to find the mirror he had used to communicate with Sirius. "Voldemort's got her—he's taken her somewhere, Malfoy Manor, I think—"

"He's _what?_" Ron yelped, getting to his feet, as Harry held up the mirror.

"Malfoy Manor—but I've got to check—_Sirius!"_

For a moment, Harry feared there would be no answer from the other end. But then Sirius's tired, if surprised, face came into view. Neville let out a squeak of surprise at seeing the face of a wanted mass-murderer, but didn't interrupt as Harry quickly recounted his dream.

"They've got her, Sirius—a manor, or someplace like it, probably owned by the Malfoys—"

Sirius's eyes crinkled in concern, but he didn't dismiss Harry, nor chastise him for not blocking Voldemort as he should have been.

"We've got to be careful, Harry… it could be a trick—she might very well still be at Hogwarts—"

"How do I check?" Harry demanded. "I don't have the Map!"

"Just hold on," Sirius ordered. His face disappeared, and Harry heard him shout, "Remus!" There was a moment of silence, followed by scuffling, and then the _fwumph_ of flames stirring suddenly to life. There was a pause, and then Sirius returned, pale and shaking.

"She's not there. Neither of them are."

Harry knew exactly what he meant, and set the mirror down. "We've got to get the Order—"

"Harry, don't do anything rash!" Sirius said, perilously close to shouting. "Remus has already got Mad-Eye up, he's going to alert the rest—"

Harry dropped the mirror and dismissed the connection, cutting off the rest of Sirius's words. There was no point in arguing. The longer they talked, the longer they waited, and the greater the likelihood that Voldemort would just kill the Professor—

"Harry," Neville said, trying to keep his voice even. "What's happened?"

"Voldemort's got my godmother," Harry said, getting to his feet, pacing. "My broomstick's still in the dungeons—how—?"

Ron didn't even attempt to dissuade him. "Let's go," he said, quickly pulling on his robes. "We'll just have to break into Umbridge's office."

"I'll come with you," Neville said determinedly.

"No—"

"I want to help," the normally timid Gryffindor said, standing his ground. "Vol—You-Know-Who's got someone who's important to you, and you're not going alone."

Harry hesitated for all of one moment, so desperate was he for help that for one wild moment, he was actually torn.

And then Neville held up his D.A galleon.

"I'm not alone," he said. "Ginny and Luna are coming, too."

~o~O~o~

"Look," Harry hissed at them, as they crept down the corridor, "You're not coming with us—you're just helping us break in, keeping a look-out while we get to the Floo—"

"The hell I'm not coming!" Ginny whispered, as they approached the locked office. Luna tapped it once with a murmured '_Alohamora_', but the door refused the budge. Glad he had thought of this possibility, Harry pulled out the knife Sirius had given him for Christmas, and fitted one of the attachments to the keyhole. "You didn't even _tell_ us you had a godmother, and now she's been kidnapped—do you really think we're just going to let you go tearing off on your own?"

There was a click, and the door swung open.

"I didn't think," Harry snapped, pushing the door open. "I _know_."

"Look," Ginny said, stepping in front of him, "either you stop arguing, and we go now, or you keep arguing until we get caught or you give up. Which is it going to be?"

The door suddenly flew open, and all five of them wheeled around, wands raised. Several jets of light flew, and there was a loud scream as the members of the Inquisitorial Squad were thrown back, disarmed and covered in boils. Harry and Ginny looked at each other, and then they quickly dashed for the jar of Floo powder by the mantle.

Harry's hands were closing around it when it flew out from beneath his fingers, and he, Ginny, Ron, Neville, and Luna turned around to face the one person they had most hoped to avoid.

"_Hem hem._"

* * *

**May the cliffhanger inspire a mob of indignant reviews.**

**-Anubis**


	7. Chapter 8

**A/N: Happy holidays! I threw out my back again.**

* * *

Hermione stared straight ahead, her expression set in silent determination. She had come willingly, of her own volition, if only because Severus had asked her to. The Dark Lord was furious at how far Harry's Occlumency skills had progressed, but was not blind to the fact that she—that she, Hermione Snape—had been the one to use them to Harry's advantage. She had kept both her husband and the Dark Lord out of the loop while Harry retrieved the Prophecy. If Lucius Malfoy had never seen her, perhaps the despot would never have known. But Voldemort had given Severus a chance to redeem himself for his slip of control over her.

She was to be used as bait.

She was resigned to it. Harry wouldn't see Voldemort's message. His Occlumency was too good, at this juncture. She hoped he wouldn't. She didn't want him to come tearing after her, half-cocked and drunk on nothing but Gryffindor courage. She had known what she was getting into, all these years as Severus's handler and later his wife—she was aware of the constant risk to her life. She wasn't surprised at the idea that it could eventually come to this. It was her fault, really—she had gone soft, careless. This was the price she was paying for that.

_Why hadn't she refused?_ She found herself musing on this, even as she kept her focus straight, refusing to lock eyes with anyone in the room. Was it because she wasn't willing to risk Severus's position as a spy? Dumbledore would replace her as his handler, if she didn't survive this. Her throat caught at the notion, and she barely allowed Selenius to cross her thoughts before pushing it away. Her mind had to be perfectly blank. She needed to be empty, controlled, just in case the Dark Lord or one of his cohorts decided to ransack her defenses first. Bellatrix was certainly capable.

Severus's hand was gripping her shoulder, and she found it a small comfort.

Bellatrix was pacing the room, waiting with eager impatience for their prey to appear. Lucius was alert, still as stone from his position on the balcony above. Narcissa was nowhere to be seen, but Hermione suspected she had been sent to guard one of the fireplaces, much as most of the other Death Eaters had been ordered to. Still others were waiting outside, as though expecting Harry to come flying in on his broomstick to save her. Voldemort had already left the manor, expecting his minions to take care of this errand for him now that he had set the trap.

Hermione jerked up at the sound of a commotion somewhere in the house, and the room perked up like a pack of dogs that had scented fresh meat. Severus's grip tightened, his wand clenched in his other hand as the sound of scuffling and things smashing reverberated ever-louder throughout the mansion.

"They're here!" Bellatrix called gleefully.

Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief. Harry had gotten the message—Voldemort had managed to push through—but beyond that, he'd also come to rescue her? Was he out of his bloody mind?

_Oh, Harry…_

The doors banged open, to reveal the unconscious form of Rudolphus Lestrange, and three other Death Eaters held at bay by the five armed teenagers. More were coming, surely, from all points of the house, but for now, they could just about break even in numbers. Almost.

Severus's wand twitched upward, jabbing into the underside of her chin.

"_Stop or she dies!"_

The room froze. Harry's face was red with rage. If Ron had not been so shocked, he might have had mind to hex Snape. Neville's face had gone pale as he realized just who they were facing—the man who had terrified him at school for years, and the woman who had tortured his parents— but he determinedly held his ground. Ginny looked as though she had finally realized that she was in over her head, and Luna appeared remarkably unconcerned.

"This is a simple trade-off," Severus said, tilting Hermione's head back up further. "Give us the Prophecy, and she goes free. Fail to do so…" his fingers danced over Hermione's neck. "And I'll be forced to kill her."

Harry gritted his teeth. "You traitorous bastard!"

"Call me what you will," Severus replied silkily, but Hermione could sense the tension in his body. "But the situation stands as it is—you will either comply with our demands, or be short a godparent. The choice," he said, with an ugly sneer, "is all yours, Mr. Potter. And do be quick about it. We haven't the time for your slow-wittedness."

"Harry—is that—Hermione?" Ginny whispered uncertainly, as the five of them closed in together, as the other Death Eaters in the manor began to appear.

Harry was about to reply with no, but Bellatrix let out a cackle.

"Oh, the little girl recognized her already," she cooed, stepping forward. "I thought it would take longer."

"W-what?" Harry asked, uncertainty warring with fear as he stepped protectively in front of Ginny, not allowed Bellatrix to get closer to her without getting past him, first. "What are you talking about?"

"Did you ever wonder why no one would tell you who she was?" Lucius drawled from above, and their heads snapped up to look at him. The blond man sneered. "Not even her name? As I recall, Severus told us that your information on her was exceedingly limited."

"Show him, Snape," Bellatrix ordered, straightening. She was eyeing Harry with a nasty, mad glint of mania in her eyes.

Snape silently tipped Hermione's head forward. Hermione didn't know where to look, as her husband pulled her hair free of its chignon, causing her curls to cascade down her shoulders, forming a messy halo. Put up, along with the changes age had made to her face, she could disguise herself—but like this, the similarities were unmistakable.

"Hermione," Harry breathed, and Hermione heard the pain and disbelief in his words. "Why—why didn't you tell me?"

Hermione swallowed, and looked away. She didn't want to say it, not now, while they were surrounded by Death Eaters, all of whom would report anything she said back to the Dark Lord when this was over. But Bellatrix wasn't done.

"This mudblood," Bellatrix cooed, "tripped her way back in time and got mixed up in the Dark Lord's circle in the bargain." She wheeled around, and pointed her wand at Hermione, whose eyes widened as she read the words on Bellatrix's lips before she had even cast them. She bit her tongue to avoid screaming, as the Cruciatus wracked through her body, and then slumped over, panting.

"—I said no!" Severus snapped, as she gasped for breath. "I told you not to hurt her until we had to use more persuasive means!"

Hermione saw Ginny and Neville closing in around Luna, as the rest of the Death Eaters finally circled around the door, cutting off their escape, but unable to advance into the room. She saw Harry's jaw set, and then he stepped forward, holding up a pouch Hermione recognized at once.

Harry tipped the pouch upside down, and allowed the steady stream of crushed glass to fall to the floor. Bellatrix's eyes widened in comprehension, and she saw Lucius's face take on a nervous, fearful tic. Severus looked dumbstruck.

"The Prophecy's gone," Harry said, dropping the pouch to the ground. "The only place you'll find it is here, inside my head," he said, tapping his scar, "and you can't get that if you kill me, and you won't get it if you kill any of us—or her. And," he said, leveling his wand at Bellatrix, "you can't kill me until you've heard what the Prophecy says, because otherwise, it's just going to backfire on Voldemort again."

Bellatrix let out an angry hiss. Hermione saw her wand trembling, and knew she was itching to use it. The only thing holding her back was the fact that—as far as she knew—Harry was right. "He dares… he dares to use our Lord's name, defile it with his filthy—"

"Enough," Lucius said. There was a loud _crack_ as he Disapparated, and then he landed before Harry, palm outstretched. "I know you're not stupid, Potter. You must have come with something, if you had any hopes of getting your Mudblood back. Now hand it over, like a good boy."

"Let her go first," Harry said, meeting the elder Malfoy's gaze unflinchingly. "And then I'll tell you the Prophecy in full."

"He lies—_he lies_—"

Severus and Lucius exchanged glances, and it was clear that neither of them wanted to be the one to take the fall if Harry didn't go through with this.

Hermione closed her eyes. They were at an impasse. If Severus let her go, and Harry didn't tell them, his life would be forfeit. Her wand was in Severus's pocket—she could practically feel it thrumming, calling for her, knowing it was currently in the possession of the wrong wizard, but impotent to do a thing about it. Her brow furrowed. There had to be something… something she could do—

There was a sudden, loud, unanimous cry of _Stupefy,_ broken by Harry's shout of, "_Diffindo!"_ The ropes binding her snapped, and she wheeled up and out of her chair, one hand slipping to the pocket she knew held her wand, the other grabbing Severus's wrist to stop him from casting. Her wand snapped back into her hand, just in time for the room to erupt into chaos.

Spells flew in all directions, and it was all Hermione could do to rub the circulation back into her weak-feeling hands as she ducked and dodged the jets of light. Her fingers buzzed aggravatingly as she jerked her wand at the Death Eaters who had Ginny and Luna outnumbered while Harry, Ron, and Neville tried to hold off Bellatrix and Lucius.

The beam of light that struck Macnair from her wand exploded outwards, and though Ginny and Luna stumbled backwards, it was the Death Eaters behind the targeted students that suffered the brunt of the blow. They were smashed backwards into the wall, giving the two witches the break in ranks they needed. A stunner flew by her cheek, and she wheeled around to face her husband.

It was like the rare duels they once had back in school all over again, only this time, there was no referee, and no friendly apology after someone got sent to the Hospital Wing. This time, they were fighting for their lives, not to win against each other, but to put on a performance—a dance of wands to convince the enemy that they were what they were not. Her hair got in the way, but Hermione had no time to even push it out of her face. She ducked, dodged, slashed, and blocked, all the while searching for the opening she needed to assist her friends—

The sudden sound of multiple apparitions broke the sound of fighting, and Hermione's heart leapt as she saw Sirius appear in a cloud of smoke behind Neville, taking out the Death Eater who had abandoned his wand and was about to pull the Gryffindor boy into a chokehold. Remus and Tonks were there, taking either side of Ginny and Luna. Mad-Eye went straight for Lestrange with startling ferocity, and Lucius scrambled backward, no doubt attempting to escape—

Kingsley and several other faces Hermione didn't recognize at once appeared, but it became clear at once that they were Aurors—and then there was Dawlish, Robards, Proudfoot…

Neville wheeled around, wand pointed at Bellatrix.

"This is for my parents!"

Whatever spell he had been about to utter was drowned out by the sound of a foreboding _crack._ The walls splintered and shattered, and darkness rushed up from the ground and swirled around the room as the Dark Lord appeared. Hermione saw his red eyes widen in surprise, as he threw himself quite literally into the middle of the fray, and she saw the Aurors' eyes widen in shock as they finally realized what Harry had been telling them all along.

"So this is what it has come to," Voldemort said softly, surveying the wreckage of the room and their law-enforcement guests with red, pitiless eyes. "Such _dishabille._"

Bellatrix threw herself down at his feet.

"My lord—forgive me—we didn't—!"

"It's him!" she heard one woman utter. "You-Know-Who—!"

There was a powerful crack of Apparition, and Hermione's head snapped around on instinct to see who it was, and if her heart had leapt when she saw Sirius, it soared with relief and hope when she realized who it was. Dumbledore had arrived. Her distraction, unfortunately, had cost her—stars assaulted her vision as a spell threw her headlong into the wall.

"It was foolish of you to try and set such a trap, Tom," Dumbledore said calmly, addressing the enraged Dark Lord. "To bank on someone acting out of love, is to dare them to tap into the most powerful magic known to wizardkind."

Hermione didn't see what happened next, nor was she certain she properly heard it. But she heard Harry scream, and when her vision finally cleared, he was on the floor, and Sirius was by his side, attempting to shake him back into some sense. Hermione leapt forward, and threw herself back into the battle. Sirius was vulnerable while he helped Harry, and Dumbledore was dueling the Dark Lord—but no, it seemed that the Dark Lord had vanished, and all that was left was the Order and the Aurors rounding up what followers they could—

There was a loud explosion behind her, as the ceiling above the doorway was blown apart, a desperate last-ditch attempt by one of the Lestrange brothers. Without thinking, Hermione threw herself in front of Ginny, who was closest to the blast, and shoved her back. A fist-sized chunk of marble hit her full-force, snapping her head back painfully, but Hermione didn't quite register it until she realized that the room was finally—blessedly—silent. She brought a trembling hand to her forehead, and pulled it away, sticky with blood. Her neck felt like something had popped at the base.

"Hermione…" Ginny said in a tiny voice. She placed her hand on Hermione's cheek, and Hermione slowly, painfully turned to look at her, her gaze not quite focused. Harry was forcing himself off the ground—Hermione heard Sirius's exclamations of relief. "Hermione, your face—"

"I—I'm fine," she managed, slowly staggering to her feet, but her knees gave way under her. She closed her eyes, and felt herself growing dizzy with nausea. Ginny grabbed her shoulders, holding her steady. "What happened to Harry, just now?"

"I—I think You-Know-Who tried to possess him…"

"It didn't work," Hermione said, and felt an odd, mad sort smile of relief overtake her face. "Of course it didn't work…"

"No, it didn't." Hermione swayed, and Ginny pushed her back down. "I don't think you should be walking—"

Hermione bitterly reflected that at this point, it might simply be easier to black out from the pain, but she couldn't allow herself to. They needed another pair of hands to settle the mess in the room, not another body to care for. But at that moment, a strong hand gripped her shoulder, and Ginny let out a squeak of surprise—and then terror—as Severus wrapped his fingers around her wrist.

"…Miss Weasley."

There was a loud _crack_, followed by the squeezing sensation of Disapparition, and they were gone. They landed in a dour, dimly-lit room, which Hermione's eyes dizzily took a moment to adjust to in order to recognize that it was the entrance hall of Grimmauld Place. She stumbled in place for a moment before grabbing the wall for support. Her nails dug into the wood, and she felt herself slowly sliding down.

Ginny's eyes were wide with fright, and Hermione opened her mouth to say something reassuring when the door to the kitchen burst open.

"Hermione—Professor Snape—and you brought Ginny—oh, thank _goodness!_"

The last thing Hermione saw was Mrs. Weasley rushing forward to pull a startled and bewildered Ginny into a hug. She closed her eyes against the trickle of blood still seeping from her forehead, her head lolled to the side, and finally the rushing sensation that followed her knees giving way.

* * *

**Please review!**

**~Anubis**


	8. Chapter 9

**A/N: Holiday sweetener chapter. Enjoy! Reviews are much appreciated.**

* * *

To say that they had been excused from Hogwarts to recover from their ordeal at Malfoy Manor was an understatement. Harry didn't particularly feel like recalling the conversation he'd had directly after the battle, but Dumbledore's words still rung disturbingly in his ears. His friends could have died. He could have been killed. Rushing in could have hastened Hermione's demise, rather than prevent it. And despite everything that had happened—everything Harry had said and seen—Dumbledore still trusted Snape.

Harry had left the office with a bubble of fury, relief, guilt, and shame roiling within him. He stopped to pay Neville and Luna a visit in the Hospital Wing, to thank them and apologize for dragging them along with him.

"'Dragged'? Harry, if you'd tried to go without me, I would have had to pay you back for that _Petrificus Totalus _from first year!" Neville had said fiercely. "There was no way you were leaving me behind."

"It was the right thing to do," Luna said simply, looking up from a copy of _The Quibbler_ that someone had kindly fetched her. "That's what friends are for, isn't it?"

He had returned to Grimmauld Place, where Molly scolded and cried over him in equal turns. Sirius was awaiting a verdict on a possible pardon with a nervous, impatient sort of eagerness that was infectious and put Harry on edge. They were both desperately praying that the Ministry would finally—finally!—do something right this year. Ron and Ginny were recovering from minor injuries, and were passing the time with a game of Exploding Snap with Tonks and Remus.

Harry couldn't sit down and join them for long. He eventually found himself pacing the living room, unable to sit still until he could visit Hermione. He was still furious and confused—not with his godmother, because knowing Hermione, she would give them her reasons soon enough—but with Snape. He had betrayed her, taken her to Malfoy Manor, threatened to kill her, agreed to torture her… and yet, no one but he and Ron seemed to be the slightest bit disturbed by this. Ginny had told him how he had Apparated them both to Grimmauld Place—thankfully saving her from having to deal with the Aurors—and how he had carried Hermione from the room after she had collapsed, but Harry wasn't convinced. But no one would let him up. She, by all accounts, had sustained the worst injuries of the lot of them, and needed to be left alone.

Finally, he stood up from the couch for the umpteenth time, and headed for the stairs.

No one questioned where he was going—after all, he was staying on the next floor. But instead of going to his room, he instead went to Hermione's. He quietly walked down the darkened hallway, and was surprised to find a crack of light falling across the floor; the door to her room was slightly ajar. He hesitated, and then slowly crept forward, pushing the door open further ever so slightly.

What he saw made him go very still.

Snape was sitting by Hermione's bed. She was sitting up, but not of her own accord; the mass of curls pressed against Snape, and the slight lean to the side, meant that he was holding her. Her head was tucked just beneath his chin, his arms wrapped around her limp body. By the way Snape was sitting, Harry thought that for a wild moment, he might be asleep—but then his shoulders stiffened, his head lifted, and he slowly turned to look at him.

"Go away, Potter."

Harry inhaled sharply, about to speak, but something stopped him. He wanted to yell at Snape, to hex him, to tear into him for everything that he had done—by now, Harry had reached his breaking point with him—but the sight of Snape holding his godmother made him pause. His stance was so protective, as though he were not telling Harry to leave for himself, but for _her_.

And suddenly, it all made sense. The time he had seen Snape in his first year, from his obscure vantage in the trees, with his godmother and her son. The memory he had seen of her in the tunnel of the Shrieking Shack, saving Snape from Remus. The way they had interacted during his Occlumency lessons, the remark Professor McGonagall had made, the way they constantly snarked and antagonized each other without any real bite…

Without a word, Harry turned around and left.

He quietly walked down the hall and passed by the room with the tapestry, only to pause and step back a few paces as he saw Remus and Sirius standing there, hands behind their backs, observing the many names and charred marks on the family tree.

"They're married, aren't they?" he asked quietly.

Both men wheeled around to look at him, surprised by the intrusion.

"Who?" Sirius asked quickly.

"Hermione and Snape."

Sirius hesitated, but it was Remus who spoke first.

"Yes." He paused to do the calculation in his head, and then added blithely, "They've been married for nearly fourteen years."

"Tell me about Hermione," Harry said, stepping into the room. "Bellatrix said she went back in time, and you already told me she started Hogwarts in fifth year. What happened?"

"It's not our place to tell," Sirius started, but Remus shook his head.

"It's long past time," the werewolf said with a weary sigh.

"That's not up to us," Sirius insisted, and Harry understood that he was steadfastly trying to adhere to Hermione's wishes.

"I—it's okay," he muttered. "I'll wait—"

"No." Remus straightened. "Harry has waited long enough, Sirius. It's time to stop keeping him in the dark."

Sirius looked like he was about to protest, but then Harry saw his shoulders slump in capitulation.

"Your godmother," Remus began, turning his attention back to gazing at the tapestry, "arrived in the year of 1977. Her name was Hermione Granger—your best friend—and none of us knew who she was, or where she had come from. She was simply placed into Gryffindor—a girl of about sixteen, as alone and distraught as you can possibly imagine—and told to make a new life for herself."

"We didn't get along at first," Sirius said, and Harry saw the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. "Thankfully, Remus was the responsible and compassionate one in the group, and she found a place with us." The smile quickly faded as he added, "We got along rather stiffly at first, but it wasn't until after I nearly killed Snape—that incident you saw in the pensieve—that we finally got along."

"Why?"

"I was an arrogant and immature prat, and Hermione didn't know how to put up with it," Sirius said bluntly. "We warmed up a bit after I had the summer to think about what I'd done, and things got better from there."

"That's the summer she spent training with Kingsley and Mad-Eye," Remus said, glancing over at Harry over his shoulder. "I think she spent some time with Flitwick, too. She worked part-time down at The Three Broomsticks while undergoing the sort of training that would put Auror recruits to shame. I'm not certain all of it was exactly legal, mind, but it was necessary.

"It set the stage for later on," the werewolf continued, "when Hermione started having more run-ins with the Slytherins."

"She'd already had a few," Sirius reminded him, taking a seat in the single, worn old armchair in the room. "She got in a fight with some Slytherins her second day there, remember? That's how she ended up in detention with Snape."

"Why was Snape giving detention?" Harry asked, trying to calculate how old his Potions professor must have been.

"He wasn't," Sirius said with a laugh. "He was in detention, too."

"Regardless," Remus said, drawing the conversation back on track, "the Dark Lord was growing more influential, and Hermione was an unknown—but very powerful—quality. She was exceptionally bright and notably skilled with a wand, both in the classes and out in the halls, and many of his future supporters were eager to take her down a notch."

Sirius let out a bark of laughter. "They never did. She always sent them to the hospital wing for their trouble."

Harry's jaw opened, and then shut. "That's—that doesn't sound like the Hermione I know. I've never seen—she never hexed anyone unless she could help it—"

"It was a different time," Sirius acknowledged. "A different and dangerous world. Hermione adjusted to it rather admirably."

"She was also in a rather tenuous situation," Remus stated. "She was close to Severus, but she was also a Gryffindor, and a member of the Marauders. They had a falling-out more than once," he recalled, "their positions were so different, it was inevitable. But it never lasted for long. They would eventually end up back in the library together, studying or getting into all kinds of trouble—"

"Like what?" Harry asked, trying to imagine Hermione willingly running off into trouble without a very good reason. A save-the-world-from-Dark-Lords reason.

"Fighting in the corridors after hours, squabbling too loudly in the library for Madam Pince's liking, sneaking out to Diagon Alley—"

"_What?_"

"How long were they in detention for that?" Sirius asked brightly. "A month, wasn't it?"

"And a hundred points from both their houses," Remus said grimly. "I'd never seen McGonagall so furious."

Harry's mind was reeling as he tried to take this information in. The Hermione he knew was cautious when it came to rule-breaking, disliked violence, considered the library a place of sacrosanct silence, and would have been horrified to have a single detention on her record, much less a month-long string of them. It was mind-boggling to him.

There was a moment of silence, both men seemingly considering what part of the tale to tell next, and the Sirius said, "And then we graduated."

"And James and Lily got married," Remus said, with a nod. "Hermione was there for that. And then—er—"

"What you have to understand, Harry, is that she wasn't a member of the Order yet," Sirius interjected quickly. "Dumbledore was probably waiting for her to graduate. But then…"

He broke off. Remus picked up the tale.

"I haven't been made aware of the details," he said heavily, "but Snape turned spy for the Order around that time, and Dumbledore assigned Hermione as his handler."

"His what?" Harry asked, not familiar with the terminology.

"His handler," Sirius repeated. "Snape didn't report to Dumbledore—at the time, he wouldn't have had a good excuse to contact the Headmaster frequently enough to give reports, but he would have had a perfectly good excuse to visit his girlfriend." He and Harry shared a grimace at this, and then he finished, "So Dumbledore made her in charge. Snape would report to her, and she would report to Dumbledore."

"None of us knew this at the time, of course," Remus added. "This was all kept very secret. Both of their lives would have been forfeit if anyone had found out."

There was a moment of painful silence, as they exchanged glances, and then Remus reluctantly added, "That's why Malfoy Manor happened, Harry. Hermione knew what she was getting into, when she agreed to be Snape's handler all those years ago—that sometimes she would have to play a part, that Snape might have to make a show of having her under his control, of demonstrating to You-Know-Who that he was willing to make her expendable to him to show his loyalty." Remus paused, and then added roughly, "I don't think Hermione expected to survive Malfoy Manor. She probably thought your Occlumency was too good to keep You-Know-Who out, and I believe she considered the situation her fault—after all, if Lucius Malfoy hadn't seen her at the Ministry, he wouldn't have linked her to the Prophecy's disappearance."

"That's not true," Harry interrupted fiercely. "Someone would have had to take me to the Ministry to get the Prophecy."

"He does have a point," Remus acknowledged reluctantly, looking at Sirius. "It could have been anyone."

"Doubtful," Sirius snorted. "She has too much of a history. They would have turned to her first."

"It's possible, but that's neither here nor there at this point," Remus said. "Hermione went willingly, because part of her job is to ensure Snape's cover remains intact."

"That's all there is, really," Sirius said, and there was an edge of bitterness to his tone. "They worked together until You-Know-Who fell—"

"Wait," Harry interjected. "Hermione knew Voldemort would try to kill my parents. Why didn't she stop them?"

Remus and Sirius shared an uneasy grimace.

"That would have changed the timeline irreparably," Remus began, finally meeting Harry's eyes. "If she had stopped You-Know-Who, he would have simply tried again and again..."

"And Lily might not have been able to sacrifice herself for you that time," Sirius said woodenly. "And even if they did survive, the future would have changed drastically. Hermione might not have had the accident that caused her to go back in time in the first place, if she mucked around with the past too much."

Harry felt something painful and bitter slide down his throat. He knew they were right, but still—still—there was a chance that his parents could have been saved, that he could have been spared being an orphan living in the cupboard under the Dursleys' stairs, and yet…

"I think she considered stopping it, at the last minute," Sirius said suddenly, looking up from the floor. "I found her there, the night they died—she looked as though she'd been in a hurry. But she was too late."

Harry felt the block in his throat ease slightly. So Hermione has still felt guilty about letting it happened, had perhaps even tried to step in. That was slightly more like the person he knew. It made him feel a bit better, though the thought that he had come so close to the possibility of living with his parents still made his chest constrict painfully.

"Hermione fell apart after that," Remus said, turning to Sirius. "You were locked up in Azkaban then, so you wouldn't know, but she finally cracked. She'd run herself into the ground working for the Order, and as soon as You-Know-Who was gone, on top of James and Lily's deaths… I half thought she'd lost the will to live, she didn't want to see or speak to anyone. I didn't see her until their funeral, and later, Mad-Eye told me he'd had to fetch her—she was a mess."

"Where was Snape in all of this?" Harry wondered.

"I don't know," Remus answered honestly. "They had another falling out, right after the war ended. They were overworked and under enormous pressure—they both needed the time off, I think."

"Hermione was already married to him when she finally broke me out of Azkaban," Sirius said, lost in thought. He scratched a nail against the armchair idly. "She was teaching at Hogwarts then, until she got pregnant—"

He suddenly broke off, and Harry watched the blood drain from his face. "I shouldn't have said that."

"I already know she has a kid," Harry said, trying not to show discomfort at the fact that this kid, whoever he was, wasn't just Hermione's, but Snape's. He was still trying to reconcile himself with what he'd seen nearly half an hour ago, in Hermione's room. "What did she teach?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Sirius said, immensely relieved that Harry had changed the subject. "She was damn good at it, too."

"But the job," Harry said, uncomprehendingly. "The job's jinxed…"

"She found a way around it," Sirius said proudly. "Of course, she didn't remove the jinx, because she needed it to stay in place for when she finally quit."

"I'm not sure what happened after that," Remus said, eyeing Sirius askance. "She was there when I was teaching, but she mostly remained out of sight." A pause, and Harry saw him frown, as though trying to recall a fuzzy memory. "After our confrontation with Pettigrew, when I—when I transformed, she's the one who distracted me from going after you," he said slowly. "I remember chasing her. She lured me into the Forbidden Forest, and then Petrified me. She saved all your lives, that night."

"She also kept me fed and informed about the castle," Sirius said mildly. "She helped me buy your Firebolt, since I couldn't very well go down and fill it out, myself."

"She also helped you sneak into the castle," Remus said, with bite to his admonishment, "while convincing me not to tell the Headmaster that you were an Animagus."

"I'm not sure what else she could have done," Sirius said, with a wry smile. "Would it have helped if she tried to appeal my case with you?"

"Probably not," Remus admitted with a sigh.

"Last year was difficult for her," Sirius said, turning to Harry, his expression drawn. "When she was dealing with Barty Crouch, Jr. while he was impersonating Mad-Eye. They never got along in school, and he was always a cagey bugger. She was constantly on edge, doing whatever she could to make sure he thought Severus was a loyal Death Eater with his wife under his thumb, while also trying to keep you safe—"

"She was at Hogwarts for that?" Harry blurted.

"She's been at Hogwarts the entire time," Remus informed him. "Always invisible, sneaking around, keeping one eye on you and the other on the timeline…"

"She helped Crouch," Sirius said. "Made sure to give him ideas that would help you get through the tasks without showing his hand, or harming the other Champions in the process—at least, until the final task. That's when all hell broke loose."

Harry folded his arms, considering this. "She was there, that night Crouch broke into Snape's office, wasn't she?" he asked slowly. "When Crouch confronted Snape about being a Death Eater—that conversation I told you about, when we visited you outside Hogsmeade…"

"She told me everything," Sirius said bluntly. "She also followed you back to the common room to make sure Crouch didn't try something while you were alone in a corridor with him at night. She was always looking after your safety."

"Yeah," Harry said quietly. "He could have tried something… she really was watching over me, after all…"

"She was also there when Crouch finally tried to kill you," Sirius said, getting to his feet, looking agitated. "She was the one who alerted Dumbledore to the fact that you were missing. If she hadn't…"

He trailed off, his expression stricken.

"If she hadn't, I'd be dead," Harry said blankly. "Crouch would have killed me before anyone realized something was wrong."

They lapsed into silence, each of them lost in their own train of thought, until Sirius finally spoke.

"I may not like Snape, but I accept the role he and Hermione play in this war," he said carefully. "I understand that what they do may not always be black and white, and that I'm most likely not aware of even half of what they actually do. I'm not in any position to judge their relationship, but she's always managed to keep him in line," he added, his tone darkly humorous, "and they've already been through a war together. What they have isn't trivial, Harry. The Hermione you see now is a far cry from the Hermione you knew, and if you want to have a good relationship with your godmother, you're going to have to accept that."

"I don't have to get along with Snape to understand that he's—well, an important part of her life," Harry said, meeting both Sirius and Remus's eyes. "You don't like him, and neither do I, but I won't—I won't let that interfere. Hermione's still my best friend, and my godmother."

He smiled.

"And I'm glad to have her back."

~o~O~o~

"You're 'the Boy Who Lived' again," Ron said thickly through a bite of buttered toast a week later, dropping a new edition of the _Sunday Prophet_ on the table for Harry to see. "Not such a show-off maniac anymore, eh?"

"They don't seem to mention anywhere that they were the ones accusing me of being a show-off," Harry remarked, helping himself to a slice of breakfast toast. "Still, it's a nice change for once."

"Ah well, we can't all be perfect like you, Harry," Ron said with a grin.

"Lucius Malfoy's been sent to Azkaban," Arthur remarked, looking up from the previous day's _Prophet_. "Most of the Death Eaters that were at the manor are already there."

"I'm surprised the Ministry didn't try to cover this up, though," Harry said. "I mean, it was just a couple of Aurors who saw him—who said the Ministry had to believe them?"

"It was nearly a dozen Aurors unaffiliated with the Order," Remus reminded them, as he entered the kitchen. "In addition to the Death Eaters they brought in, that would have been pretty hard evidence to push aside."

"I don't see the difference," Harry said peevishly.

"I do." All heads whipped around, and Remus quickly pulled out a chair as Hermione slowly descended the stairs into the kitchen. Her gait was slow, and she looked weary, but otherwise looked alright as she took the proffered seat and served herself toast with jam. "Thank you, Remus. Yes, Harry, there's still a difference between what happened last year, when you returned with Cedric Diggory's dead body, and when Aurors answer a call to a residence and find a dozen Death Eaters and a Dark Lord clearly attempting to murder five schoolchildren."

"Well, when you put it that way…" Ron said, setting down his toast. "Yeah, that makes sense. How are you feeling?"

"A bit tired. I'm not as young as I used to be," she said, with a wry smile. "Hard duels and knocks to the head with chunks of marble don't heal so quickly."

"Sirius and I already told Harry about most of your background," Remus said suddenly, with the air of someone trying to get through something painful as quickly as possible. "Ron knows, too."

"I appreciate that," Hermione said, before taking a moment to help herself to a bite of toast. She swallowed, and then added, "It saves me the trouble of having to do it myself, and right now, I'm not quite feeling up to it."

"Perfectly understandable," Remus said, looking immensely relieved at her response.

"What I'm curious to know," Hermione said, pouring herself a glass of pumpkin juice, "is how the two of you managed to get past Umbridge to rescue me."

Ron choked on his toast, and Harry suddenly found his fingernails to be very interesting. Arthur slowly lowered his paper to look at them, and Remus eyed them expectantly.

"Well—"

"She caught us trying to Floo out of her office," Harry began, glancing over at Ron, who hesitated.

"Tell me about it," Hermione said, and to both boys' shock, she was grinning. "I have a feeling this is going to be delightful."

"Hermione, your dark side is showing," Arthur remarked casually, looking back at his paper.

"I don't know why that'd bother me, Arthur," Hermione said cheerfully, leaning back in her chair. "Go on, you two. Tell me how you did it."

Harry and Ron exchanged looks.

"You—er—you're not mad at us?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Oh, no," Hermione said, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. "I'm absolutely furious. But that can wait."

Ron's eyes widened at this, and then a grin spread across his face.

"So, she caught us trying to leave," he said, "and Harry tried to get to the Floo powder, but she summoned it before he could, so we were stuck."

"She started interrogating us," Harry continued, picking up where he had left off earlier. "She thought we were trying to contact Dumbledore, or Sirius, or even you. And when we wouldn't tell her, she threatened to torture me."

Hermione paused mid-sip to raise an eyebrow at him. Arthur was staring at Harry and Ron as though he had not quite heard them properly.

"Unforgivable?" she guessed casually.

"Cruciatus," Ron answered bluntly. "She was going to use it on Harry, and that set Neville off. He started shouting at her, about how it was illegal, and—well—unforgivable." He looked at Harry proudly. "Beautiful rant. I'll never underestimate him again."

"That's when Umbridge said that what Fudge didn't know wouldn't hurt him," Harry said flatly. "She was the one who sent the Dementors after me, last summer."

The paper slid out of Arthur's hands and hit the floor. Remus, who had been enjoying this tale, suddenly went very still. Hermione casually took a bite of toast, and waited.

"And then Ginny lost her nut, and Neville lost his patience." Ron made a wild gesture with his toast. "Bat-Boogies everywhere, same time as when I got her with a Slug-Vomiting Curse, and Neville caught her with a Confundus Charm. Harry summoned the Floo powder back from her, and Luna had the bright idea to hit her with an _Obliviate_. Good thing too, because there was no way I was going to let her remember that Ginny had hexed her. Mum would have killed me if I let her get expelled. Or me, for that matter."

"Boys…" Arthur began.

"So that's how we got past her to get to you," Harry finished, with a strained sort of smile.

"She's in the hospital wing now," Ron remarked. "Woke up from the Obliviate in a room full of giant slugs and angry bat-boogies, couldn't figure out how to end either hex. She fell down a couple flights of stairs trying to get away from them. Apparently," Ron said, with a snigger, "Confundus and Obliviate don't mix very well, together."

Hermione slowly began to clap. "Bravo. You attacked a teacher, probably scrambled her brains—not that she didn't deserve it—and then went charging off to save me."

"Pretty much," Harry said.

There was a pause from Arthur's end of the table as they all turned to look at him.

"I don't think I'll be mentioning this to your mother," he muttered.

"So, the post is empty again," Ron said casually, taking a stab his plate of bacon. "New teacher, new year, eh?"

~o~O~o~

Harry hadn't seen Snape since he had walked in on him in Hermione's room, but since Hermione had awakened, Harry noticed she had been slightly on edge for the next two days. She would chew on her lower lip for no apparent reason, drum her fingers against any surface, and be lost in thought and distracted if anyone tried to talk to her.

Harry didn't fully understand why until, late one night, he was roused from his bed by the sound of someone coming in from the kitchen. The house creaked as he descended the stairs, thinking that maybe Remus and Sirius were cooking a late-night snack, and he might as well join them, seeing how he couldn't sleep either. He still had too much on his mind.

He paused at the foot of the stairs and was about to open the door when he heard Hermione's voice.

"Don't move…"

Slowly, Harry inched open the door and peered through the crack. Hermione was supporting Snape, who barely seemed lucid enough to stand, and was half-dragging him over to the table. Snape slumped into one of the chairs facing away from the door, giving Harry a good view of the shredded back of his robes, before Hermione began tearing them off of him.

"What happened?" her voice was barely above a whisper, but he could hear it. "How angry was he?"

Snape didn't answer for a moment, and Harry thought that perhaps he was unconscious; and then he spoke, his voice ragged and harsh.

"He… was furious that he failed to get the—the Prophecy…"

The robes were finally torn away, and Harry's breath caught as he was treated to the sight of Snape's bruised and bleeding back. Welts had been raised, covering old scars, and where something had apparently cut into him twice, it had sunk in deep enough to cause blood to trickle down. A moment later, a tiny jar of thin, brown liquid was set down on the table, and he watched Hermione dab a wet cloth to the topmost whip-marks before applying the paste with her fingers. The skin began to heal immediately, fresh pink covering the reddened sores, and Harry vaguely recognized the potion being used as Essence of Dittany.

"S-said that I'd failed… that we all—that we all failed him…"

Harry watched Hermione put down the cloth to take his hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze, even as she continued to apply the Dittany. They had obviously done this before. "What else?"

So this was what it meant for Hermione to be Snape's handler, Harry realized. She was the one who cleaned him up after Voldemort took out his fury on his followers, who made him talk even when he looked close to collapsing. Who forced a report out of a man who had scarcely returned from being beaten. For a moment, Harry found himself pitying Snape, almost as much as he had when he saw his father hang him upside down by the lake.

"Everyone… who wasn't captured… was punished," Snape bit out quietly. "He said…" he broke off.

"He said what?" Hermione pressed.

A shudder ran down Snape's back as her touch lightly skimmed over one of the welts that ran horizontally across his spine, and then he said raggedly, "He said that if Dumbledore still hadn't believed I was loyal—that if I'd been caught by the Aurors—I'd be of no use for him. That he would have killed me."

Harry felt his back stiffen at this admission, and for a moment, he felt as though someone had struck him with something very heavy. What shocked him even more was the fact that Hermione's face was still imperturbably calm.

"But… because I managed to—to maintain my position, he said… I was still useful." Snape's neck snapped back, and Harry saw him grimace in pain as Hermione took care of a particularly angry-looking cut along his side. "His patience is running thin, Hermione. He… he always took failure badly, but he—he never killed loyal Death Eaters…"

"This is new for him," Harry heard Hermione whisper. "This is significant. Did he kill anyone yet?"

Snape shook his head, and let out a low hiss as Hermione started again on a new welt. "No. Only threats."

"But he doesn't threaten lightly," Hermione said quietly. "Yes, I know. We'll find a way for you to earn you place back, somehow. Most of his followers are in Azkaban right now. He might be willing to kill, if thwarted often enough, but he won't kill one of the few Death Eaters who have—until now—rarely failed him."

"Small comfort," Snape whispered, but there was a certain resigned, sardonicism to his tone.

Harry saw Hermione shake his shoulder slightly, through with healing his back, to nudge him to his feet. "Let's go up to bed," she said softly. "You need rest, and I need to write up the report for Dumbledore."

There was a scraping sound as Snape's chair was pushed back, and Harry quickly wheeled around and darted up the stairs as quietly as possible. He made it up to the second landing when the door to the kitchen opened, and he glanced down in time to see Hermione slip into the hall, followed by Snape. Harry crept back into his own room, and shut the door.

* * *

**Please review!**

**~Anubis**


	9. Chapter 10

**A/N: Happy Holidays!**

_**Christmas is coming, the writer is getting fat.**_

_**Please put a review in the updating author's hat.**_

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own Harry Potter.**

* * *

A week later, Hermione packed Selenius off to Tine Cottage with Remus. He had been locked up in the house with so many sudden unexpected guests for the last several days, and it couldn't last. Sirius needed to remain at Grimmauld Place until they heard back from the Ministry, which was dragging its feet going over the evidence of Sirius's innocence, and Hermione knew Harry wouldn't be surprised by Remus's absence. The werewolf spent so much time underground, anyone would assume he was right back on duty today.

"You'll be back before you know it," she promised Selenius, as soon as he had his things unpacked at Tine Cottage. She pressed a kiss to his head. "Things will settle down. And with any luck, Sirius will be a free man soon."

Dumbledore arrived late that morning to take Harry to the Dursleys'. Hermione did not question this, but she did assuage Harry's fears that he would be made to spend the summer there. Dumbledore was only taking him there long enough to renew the protection that Lily's sacrifice had left for Harry. He would be back in time for dinner, which Hermione knew he wouldn't want to miss for the world—Molly's cooking was always worth staying for.

Hermione spent the morning at the Burrow, helping Tonks and Kingsley set up protections. The Order wasn't planning on keeping Harry at Grimmauld place all summer—he would be staying with the Weasleys, as usual, which required they take steps to ensure that the Burrow was all but impenetrably fortified against unwanted guests. Their mail was already being checked, and they had already received one of the irritatingly useless flyers meant to outline safety steps to take against Death Eaters.

Fudge had been ousted just days ago, and his successor was moving things along very quickly. Scrimgeour had requested a meeting with Harry the day before, which Dumbledore had flatly refused, and was now demanding a meeting with the Headmaster to argue his case. Thus, with the Burrow safely secured, and Harry off dealing with his relatives, Hermione pocketed the letter Scrimgeour had sent to Dumbledore and Flooed to the Ministry.

Scrimgeour eyed her critically when Hermione swept into his office as though she owned it.

"Who are you?" Scrimgeour asked roughly, rising from his seat and crossing the room. Hermione saw his hand twitch toward his wand. He was more alert than Fudge had been, certainly, though not quite as paranoid as Mad-Eye. That was a good sign. Hermione held out her hand, and after a moment, he hesitantly took it. They shook, and then Hermione silently held out the letter to him. He took a moment to scan it, and then his eyes snapped up at her.

"Who gave you this?"

"Dumbledore, of course," Hermione stated bluntly. When Scrimgeour did not seem forthcoming in his response, she clarified, "He had other things to take care of today. He sent me instead."

"So the great Headmaster of Hogwarts is too busy to meet with the Minister," Scrimgeour said, gesturing an armchair that had been relegated to a far corner of the office. Hermione flicked her wand, and it scooted forward several feet, just short of the Minister's desk, and she leaned back in it. "I don't suppose he's reconsidered my request?"

"The Headmaster has more important things to do than sit here and argue with you," Hermione said, crossing her legs and bracing her elbow against the armrest, giving the impression that she was perfectly at ease, perhaps even bored. "As you've probably guessed, his answer has not changed."

"So that's it?" Scrimgeour asked, and Hermione could hear the anger in his words. "I thought this was supposed to be a meeting, not an owl delivery." His eyes narrowed at her, and Hermione could see the gears turning quickly. This was not a stupid man. "And you have still not answered my question. Who are you?"

Hermione gave him a thin smile.

"My name is Hermione." She folded her hands into her lap. "As for this being a _discussion_—"

"There's only one Hermione that Dumbledore should know about, and Hermione Granger is at least twenty years your junior and currently missing," Scrimgeour interrupted bitingly.

Hermione nodded, still smiling. "That's true. How I came to be here isn't really on today's itinerary, but suffice to say, I've had twenty years to get to where I am. Now," she said, sitting up straighter, "if you want a discussion, I'm more than happy to give it. I doubt you'll change my mind—"

"_Your_ mind?" Scrimgeour challenged.

"Dumbledore's left the final decision up to me," Hermione said with a tiny shrug.

Hermione saw Scrimgeour's attention sharpen and refocus on her. "Why you?"

"Because I'm Harry's godmother," Hermione said calmly. Without giving him a moment to fully absorb this revelation, she added, "So please, do try to convince me. Why should I let you meet with Harry, when everything's the Ministry's done since last year certainly means that he'll want to keep his distance from _you?_"

Hermione could see that Scrimgeour, sharp-witted and quick as he might be, was still struggling to absorb and pick apart everything she had just said or implied. It was as though she had thrust him into a complex, timed chess game and the clock to make his move was ticking.

"The people need someone to look up to," Scrimgeour said, giving her a stony stare. "We're in the middle of a war. People are afraid, panicked, and confused—and the only thing they know is there is a boy out there who is destined to save us all. They'll want to hear him. They'll want to see him—and they'll trust and work with those he associates himself with."

"That's very touching, Minister, but I'm sure Harry can do his job just fine without you," Hermione said, interlacing her fingers in her lap. "After all, unless you're actually putting the Ministry's resources to good use, why would he even consider endorsing you?"

"I have already promised to make changes—"

"Rubbish," Hermione interjected coldly.

"Pardon me?" Scrimgeour asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"You heard me," Hermione snapped. "What 'changes'? If you think putting up flyers with knut-worth information on protection against Death Eaters and acknowledging that the Dark Lord is back counts, then I have to wonder if you actually plan to win this war at all."

"I was appointed less than a week ago, Madam Granger," Scrimgeour said coolly. Hermione could see that she was trying his patience, and felt vindictive pleasure that he wasn't having an easy time instigating superficial politics. "Change takes time."

"Change has to happen _now,_ Minister," Hermione said tightly. "The Ministry is infested with spies and Dark Lord sympathizers—how do you expect to get something worthwhile done, when anything you do is automatically reported back to You-Know-Who? Furthermore," she added, her tone frosty, "why would you expect me to let Harry come waltzing in and out of the Ministry to keep up appearances, when the place is a trap just waiting to happen?"

"I've offered to assign him his personal contingent of Aurors—"

"No."

"—to give him Ministry resources to help in his fight against You-Know-Who—"

"No."

"Then _what_, Madam Granger?"

Hermione leaned back in her chair.

"I want you to start investigations, right now, in every department," she stated. She pulled out a second sheet of paper, and slid it across the desk to him. "I've already done your research for you. Albert Runcorn has been brown-nosing his way up the Ministry's ranks with Dolores Umbridge by keeping in contact with members of the Dark Lord's spy network—" the toadying woman had been released from St. Mungo's just under three days ago "—and they're keeping an eye on Pius Thicknesse, whom the Dark Lord has placed under the Imperius Curse."

Scrimgeour stared at her.

"This is just for starters, Scrimgeour," Hermione said, her tone suggesting that she rather thought he had bitten off more than he could chew. "This is what it means to be Minister in a time of warfare. This is what it means to do your duty. Stop doing things for show, stop doing them slowly, and get on with it."

She gave him a moment to let this sink in, as Scrimgeour took the list. His eyes widened at parts, and narrowed at others, as he slowly scanned through the names and notations.

"If you take my advice to heart, get results, and continue to put effort into effectively fighting You-Know-Who and protecting the Wizarding community, _then_ I'll let you ask for endorsement from 'The Chosen One,'" Hermione said, her tone lightly mocking. There was a polite pause, and then she added pleasantly, "You may also want to grant Sirius Black his pardon."

"Done," Scrimgeour said at last, carefully folding the list and slipping it inside an inner breast pocket of his robes. She expected him to look defeated, but he merely looked determined instead. "Very well, Madam Granger." He let out a rough sigh, and got to his feet. "Do you mind at least telling me how you came to this? Last I looked, Aging Potions were temporary."

Hermione gave him a gimlet-eyed look as she considered this.

"No," she said finally. "Not yet. You haven't earned the trust for that."

She nodded at the door.

"Do your job, Minister, and then I'll see whether I think you need to know."

She was almost to the door when Scrimgeour stopped her.

"The only reason I asked," he said gravelly, "is because when I succeeded him, I interrogated Fudge about some of his actions while he was Minister. He admitted to letting Sirius Black go free in exchange for someone's political support. At first, I thought it might have been Dumbledore, but now I'm wondering if it was _you_."

Hermione slowly, very slowly, turned to look at him.

"Well," she said, placing her hand on the doorknob, "you're smarter than I thought after all."

And then she swept out of the room in a swirl of robes, leaving the Minister staring after her as though he had just seen a ghost.

~o~O~o~

Hermione returned just as Harry and the Headmaster arrived at the doorstep of Grimmauld Place. Harry squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, as though to re-orient himself, and then opened them. Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling at her from behind his half-moon spectacles, and she knew that, somehow, he already had an idea—or a very good guess—of how her meeting with the Minister had gone.

"I still think I'll prefer brooms, even after I get my Apparition license," Harry muttered.

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione said, smiling. "I've never liked brooms."

Harry grinned. "I'm glad some things haven't changed."

They were about to ascend the steps when the door was thrown open, and Sirius walked out, arms spread wide. He was grinning as though he had just won the Quidditch World Cup, the joy and elation on his face impossible to ignore.

"I'm free!" he declared, openly stepping out into the world for the first time in nearly thirteen years. He was holding a letter emblazoned with the official Ministry seal, waving it for all to see. "Cleared of all charges!" He took in the astonished faces of his best friend and godson. "Completely pardoned!"

It took a moment for the words to sink in. Harry and Hermione's jaws both dropped, but she was the first to recover. She grabbed Sirius and yanked him into a hug, laughing.

"_Yes!_" she cried. "Oh, Sirius—_yes!"_

Laughing, Sirius grabbed her and swung her around off her feet, nearly causing them to trip over the stairs, and then set her down. "I'd almost given up hope that I'd ever see the day," he said, now pulling Harry into a hug. "I'm a free man—I scarcely believe it, myself!"

Hermione didn't realize she was crying until her vision blurred, and she wiped at her eyes only to end up streaking her face with salty wetness. What looked like half the Order was following Sirius onto the doorstep now, everyone cheering and celebrating and making sure to congratulate the man who was now being given his life back.

"This is cause for a celebration," Molly declared, and Hermione emphatically agreed.

All too soon, however, she had to disentangle herself to return to the gloom of the house. She strode through the kitchen, ascended the stairs leading to the hall, and then quickly walked down the hall to the room where Severus was staying. She opened the door a crack, and then slipped inside and shut it firmly behind her.

Severus had clearly been sleeping, but the moment he registered Hermione's presence, he cracked one eye open.

"I take it from the ruckus being made downstairs that the mutt's been pardoned?" he muttered.

Hermione grinned. Even Severus's needling at Sirius couldn't put a damper on her elation.

"That's right," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck as he slowly sat up, and placing a kiss on his cheek. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." Hermione pulled away to inspect his back, and he groused, "I'm fine!"

"It's improving," she agreed, gently stroking it. He relaxed under her touch, despite the sensitivity, and she added, "Now that Sirius's been officially pardoned, and I've taken care of the Minister, I've got a plan for Selenius."

Her husband sighed, and rested his chin on her shoulder. "He turns eleven this year, doesn't he?"

"Yes," Hermione said, pressing her cheek against his. "We can't put it off any longer."

"I'll take him to Diagon Alley to get his school things," Severus muttered sleepily. "You're always busy, and I rarely…" he trailed off.

There was a moment of silence, and then his head suddenly jerked up.

"Wait," he said, "what did you just say you did to the Minister?"

~o~O~o~

"This is an odd place to go for a walk," Hermione commented, as both she and the Headmaster strolled down an overgrown lane. "And I'm not sure what this has to do with my employment, Headmaster."

Dumbledore indicated they should turn into the lane leading up to a run-down, dirty shack that was so horribly taken over with weeds and climbing vines, one could hardly imagine anyone ever living in it.

"You want to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts again," he said simply. "If this is the case, then I should like a competent instructor in the subject to accompany me on this errand."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, not at the Headmaster, but at the house as they stopped just a few feet from the door. A dead snake, all bones and broken bits, hung in pieces from where it had been nailed to the door, only held together by bits of vine that had woven into and around it. It looked as though it had been there for a long time.

"One would almost suspect the person who lived here didn't like snakes," she commented.

"Oh, not at all," Dumbledore assured her. "Morfin Gaunt was very fond of snakes. As I recall, he had a certain way with them, given his unusual ability to speak to them."

"Who was Morfin Gaunt?" Hermione asked, as they stepped closer to the door. She had her wand drawn. "A parseltongue, I assume?"

"He was Voldemort's uncle."

Hermione froze. Her head seemed to creak slightly as she slowly turned to look at the wizened old man beside her.

"Where are we?" she asked quietly.

"The House of Gaunt," Dumbledore said. He indicated the old, broken-looking door. "As you can guess, it hasn't been lived in for a number of years. But Marvolo Gaunt and his son and daughter lived here with him, once upon a time, impoverished and holding onto what few family heirlooms they had left."

Hermione carefully did the calculations in her head. "That would mean the Dark Lord's grandfather. And—his mother?" She turned her gaze back to the shack. "Was—was You-Know-Who _born_ here?"

"Oh no, I'm afraid not," Dumbledore admitted. "There's a bit of family history, I'm afraid, but Voldemort has never lived here." He raised his wand, and tapped the door once; it swung open with a reluctant, creaking squeak that threatened to break it right off its hinges, ripping through the vines that had sealed it in place for so long. "If I'm right, however, I do believe he left something rather important behind, on the one occasion that he did pay his uncle a visit."

Hermione lit her wand, peering into the darkness of the shack. "What are we looking for?"

"A ring," Dumbledore said, lighting his wand as well. "A very old ring."

They cautiously stepped inside. The hovel was filthy. What Hermione could see, was covered in layers of dust and dirt and grime. Old, rusted and cracked pots and pans hung from the wall, and a stove that clearly didn't work anymore bent sadly into itself. There was a table and some broken-down chairs, and two separate doorways that led to tiny, dark rooms that Hermione could only assume had once been where the Gaunts slept. It looked as though it had been unremarkable and uncomfortable, even when it had been inhabitable.

Hermione slowly ran her wand along the counter, though she didn't flinch when a pair of beady eyes looked out at her between the cracks of the wood. The place would be crawling in rats and spiders and all sorts of vermin, she knew, and probably quite a bit worse than the time she and Severus had purged Spinner's End. Tiny sparks from her wand leapt onto the cobwebs, burning them up without touching anything else, causing their inhabitants to drop and scuttle away from the wand-wielding humans' intrusion.

_If I were Voldemort, where would I leave a ring in this broken-down shack?_

Her eyes roved over the room, and finally landed on the table. Dumbledore emerged from one of the tiny rooms to watch as she walked over, and slowly ran her wand across the table. The light ran over several knotholes, but Hermione quickly backtracked over one of them when something glinted back at her.

There, nestled in the soft, rotting knot in the wood, was an ugly-looking old ring. It had a rather oddly-shaped stone set in it, she realized, as she prodded it with her wand, working it out of the knot and turning it over on the table so she could see it better. It had puzzling scratch marks on it, as though someone had tried to carve a symbol into it.

Dumbledore stepped closer, and when he didn't touch the ring, Hermione realized he was waiting for her. She tapped it once, and began murmuring spells with just the barest movement of her lips, trying to unravel its secrets. It practically bled an aura of dark magic, but her spells revealed that it was perfectly benign to hold, though not to use. She looked up at the Headmaster.

"What do you want to do with it?"

For a moment, it seemed that Dumbledore had not heard her. He was gazing at the ring, with something akin to longing and remorse, and then he slowly lifted a hand, as though to scoop it up. The hair on Hermione's spine began to rise as he picked it up in one hand, but when he moved it so that it became apparent that he was about to put it on, her fingers lashed out at him, wrapping around his wrist.

"Don't!"

Dumbledore hesitated, though he did not set down the ring.

"Marvolo Gaunt never understood what he had, for all that he wore this ring for years," he said at last. "The ring is set with a valuable artifact—a legendary stone that is said to wake the dead, so that one may speak with them again."

Hermione's breath caught at the implication of his words, but the next moment, she had snatched the ring out of his hand with nimble fingers, and was holding it out of reach.

"It's dangerous," she said firmly. Her tone brooked no argument—whatever the Headmaster said, she had gotten enough of a reading off the ring to know that she could not allow him to don it. Her conviction was immovable, though some part of her was screaming that she was insane to try and stand up to him. He was Albus Dumbledore—one did not simply order him about. Yet, she stood her ground. "You can't put it on."

She saw the old man waver, and for a moment, felt pity for him—and for herself. She wanted so badly—she desired it so much that it physically hurt her to deny it—to see if he was correct about the stone's properties. But reason won out, and she quashed the yearning brutally. She saw Dumbledore's fingers tremble, as though to reach for the stone, or perhaps pull out his wand, but then it subsided.

"You're right," Dumbledore said, and his voice was very faint, as though he were far away. "Of course… I have been so very foolish…"

Hermione was suddenly very glad she had agreed to come, and pocketed the ring.

"We can look at it better when we get back to Hogwarts," she said, affecting cheery brightness to her tone at the prospect. "Find a way to destroy whatever curse the Dark Lord's laid on it."

She held out her hand, the one with the watch Kingsley had given her for her seventeenth birthday. Dumbledore graciously, pulled out the dial on it, gave it a twist, and then pressed it back in. With a yank, they were transported away, spinning out of the broken-down shack.

~o~O~o~

_Crack._

The ring broke open under the force of the Sword of Gryffindor's blade, a horrible kind of smoke unfurling from the fissure with a hiss. It curled in upon itself densely, letting out a howling shriek, and then faded away. Hermione carefully laid the sword down, and after a moment of brushing her fingers lightly over the ring's surface, muttering a few choice spells, she finally stood back.

"You didn't bring me to test me," Hermione said at last, turning to gaze at Dumbledore, who was sitting in one of the chintz armchairs. He had watched her efforts with seemingly benign curiosity, as though she were performing a neat little trick, but Hermione knew him well enough to recognize the curiosity glinting behind the old man's eyes. "You brought me to stop you. From donning the ring."

Dumbledore bent his head in acknowledgement.

"Why?" Hermione finally asked, picking up the now-harmless ring and turning it over in her fingers.

"Because I didn't trust myself," Dumbledore responded softly, and for the first time, Hermione thought he rather looked his years. "As you can see, that was quite justified."

"You didn't trust yourself to resist the temptation?" Hermione asked lightly, attempting to mask her disbelief as humor.

"That's correct," Dumbledore said simply.

Hermione paused, and then slowly slid the ring onto her left index finger. Nothing happened, of course, as she knew it would. But it still felt odd, carrying the once-cursed weight of the stone in her hand. She looked up at the Headmaster.

"The curse I broke is one that I've never come across before," she said, and there was a trace of keen suspicion in her voice. Perhaps even accusation. "There was something in that ring, Albus—something was _alive_. Perhaps not whole, but that wasn't just a curse."

"Bright as ever," Dumbledore lauded, slowly getting to his feet. "You are correct, of course. The ring was imbued with more than just a curse—though it was a powerful curse, by all appearances, and certainly lethal. Had I put on the ring, of course."

Hermione wasn't certain she was breathing, as she waited for the Headmaster to continue. You could have heard a pin drop in the room, save for the faint click of Dumbledore's high-heeled boots as he crossed the room.

"Hermione," Dumbledore said, and there was an air of joviality in his voice, "you just killed a piece of Lord Voldemort's soul."

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**~Anubis**


	10. Chapter 11

**A/N: If you guys are all very good readers and stay in Santa's good books (and review!_)_, I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**Please review! ;)**

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Everyone was at the Burrow. Hermione had unfortunately missed the celebration in Sirius's honor, as she had been in the middle of breaking a curse and killing a part of Voldemort's fetid soul during that particularly happy hour, but she was there now, striding up the lane in time to see Sirius wave his wand at Fred Weasley, only to have it let out a loud squawk and turn into a rubber chicken. Buckbeak, who was standing just a few feet away, shook his head and leaned forward to inspect it, as though hoping it might be real.

"Fred!" she said, laughing at Sirius's astonished expression. "What did you do with his wand?"

"Bugger me if I know," Fred grinned. His eyes flickered over Hermione's face for a moment, and she knew he was still getting used to the abrupt change—as least, in how he knew her— but he still took her arrival in stride.

"They challenged me to a friendly duel," Sirius grumbled, dangling the rubber chicken over his head. Deciding it was still worth a taste, the hippogriff snapped it up, and then spat it out almost immediately. "Planned this out, didn't you?"

Without looking the least bit sheepish, George Weasley returned Sirius's newly-recovered wand to him. The twins gave Sirius a mock salute, and then retreated to the table to snag more of Molly's cooking, no doubt to take back to their flat with them.

"Where've you been?" Sirius asked, keeping his voice low as Hermione greeted him with a hug. "Everyone missed you."

"With Dumbledore," Hermione said cryptically, releasing him. She took a moment to bow to the hippogriff, and once Buckbeak returned the favor, began to rub his beak affectionately. "Hello, handsome."

Buckbeak preened.

"Ah," Sirius said, as though that explained it. He glanced over his shoulder, and then added, "I went to visit Selenius, to let him know. He asked if this meant I could live at Tine Cottage permanently, now that I'm not a wanted man."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "It's much nicer than Grimmauld Place, and the Headmaster isn't using it for anything else. I don't see why you couldn't."

"That would mean Selenius would move in there, too," Sirius reminded her.

"That's fine," Hermione agreed, thinking that it would be both a quiet and protected place for her son to stay during the holidays. She had to think of him in terms of school now, since he was a student. "Did he get his school things today? I can't remember if Severus said he was going to take him tomorrow or not."

"Snape took him earlier," Sirius said, and for once, he was able to say her husband's name without sounding as though he would rather choke on it. "His school things are in his room, he won't have to pack for a couple weeks."

Hermione grinned, and then the smile slid off her face. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you," she said, looking down instead at Buckbeak's clawed front legs. The hippogriff leaned into her touch, and if he were a cat, Hermione would have suspected he would be purring. "We can't put Selenius down as… well, we're still trying to hide him from the Dark Lord—but we can't keep him out of school, and—"

"What are you trying to ask?" Sirius said, attempting to cut the chase.

Hermione breathed in deeply. "We want to ask if you'll pretend Selenius is yours. Kingsley's offered to sneak in and change the records, so that he's listed under your name, with the mother unknown. I just wanted to ask you first." She scratched Buckbeak's neck. "You and Selenius look a lot alike. Enough that you could pass for his father, anyway. We want him to go to school, but we don't want the Dark Lord to know that he's our son." She grimaced. "Not to mention that aside from the issue of his mother being a missing woman twenty years older than she should be, he'd be mercilessly taunted for having Severus as a father."

"He'll still get a lot of attention, if he claims to be my son," Sirius pointed out. He wasn't say no, per se, just stating facts. "Less, I'll admit, but probably manageable."

"We'll come up with a story for him to tell," Hermione said slowly. "Fake background, childhood, the works. It won't be _easy,_ mind, but you're the best choice—and he really looks up to you," she added, smiling, "so I think he'd consider it, well, an honor I suppose."

She could tell this warmed Sirius immensely. Selenius would always be Severus's son, and there was no denying the bond between the two—but Selenius's childhood had been constantly disrupted, and Severus in particular had very little opportunity to spend time alone with his son. Sirius and Remus had both stepped in to help care for him when his parents couldn't, and if nothing else, Sirius treated Selenius the same way she suspected he would have treated Harry if he had gotten he opportunity to raise him himself.

"Tell Kingsley to go ahead and change the records," Sirius said. "It might raise questions about where I found the time to father a child while in Azkaban," he added, grinning self-deprecatingly, "but if it'll protect Selenius, of course I'll do it."

Hermione let a pent-up sigh of gratitude and relief escape her. "Thank you."

"It might mean admitting I wasn't in Azkaban for twelve years," Sirius said slowly, "but that's Fudge's hot water, not mine."

"True. You've been given a full pardon, after all." She patted Buckbeak's head one more time, and then pulled her hand away. "He's been getting out more, hasn't he?"

"This is the first time he's seen daylight in months," Sirius admitted, "but at Tine Cottage, he'll be allowed outside. I'm sure he's looking forward to it."

Hermione nodded, and then turned to survey the table in the distance, where people were still laughing and talking, even if they were no longer eating—the way Harry was holding his stomach, she though perhaps some of them might have eaten too much. Remus was talking to Arthur, and something suddenly occurred to her.

"Who's staying with Selenius?"

"Snape's there," Sirius said wryly, though there was a slight frown to his lips. "He said he didn't care to celebrate my pardon, and told Remus to get out."

"I think that's his way of getting time alone to spend with Selenius," Hermione told him quietly. "Don't begrudge him for it."

Sirius hesitated, and Hermione could tell he was carefully considering his next words. She pre-empted him first.

"They don't get a lot of time together, especially with teaching and the Dark Lord thrown into the mix," Hermione said, her voice so low that Buckbeak actually lifted his head to listen better. "Severus might not see Selenius often, but it's not because he doesn't want to be a father to him."

Sirius rubbed his temples. "I have mixed feelings on the matter," he finally admitted.

If it had been anyone else, Hermione would have told them to bugger off. Her son's relationship with his father was no one else's business, and few people knew or were close enough to either of them to have a worthwhile opinion on them. But Sirius practically raised Selenius when Severus wasn't around, and even refrained from speaking badly about the latter within his son's earshot, and in Hermione's mind, that counted for a lot. He deserved to have his say.

"It's not that Snape doesn't care for him," Sirius said slowly, seemingly chewing on his words as he said them. "Because if there's one thing he can't hide, it's the fact that he loves his son." This felt like a very painful admission, coming from him, but he continued. "But I spend a little over half the year doing the things a father should—and he's more absent than both of my parents put together, and that's saying something."

Hermione knew little about Sirius's childhood, but the gist of it seemed to be that his parents had considered raising him and his brother to be a chore for the house elves, particularly in their pre-Hogwarts years. They hadn't had the patience to raise children even though they wanted them, if only to continue the Black family name.

She also understood what Sirius was trying to say.

"If Severus had a choice, he would be there to see all of Selenius growing up," Hermione whispered. "He wouldn't just be there when it's easy, when Selenius is in a good mood, and has all his homework done and something interesting to talk about. He would be a part of it, every step of the way. If I had a choice, I'd do the same."

Sirius nodded. "I'm not criticizing the decisions you've made," he stated. "You've made them out of necessity—and when I see you with Selenius, I see you trying to be everything you can for him, all at once, with what little time you have. And—yes—Snape does the same," he admitted bitterly, and it seemed to take all of his self-control to be this forthright, as though he were dragging this out of himself, bit by bit. "And yet—it's _not_ the same."

Hermione took Sirius's hand in hers, and squeezed it. "When this war's finally over, Severus and I will have the chance to be the parents to Selenius that we always wanted to be," she whispered, "but we won't lock you out. You and Remus have been so good to him—you're practically his godparents, for all that I never formally asked you to be. Like it or not, you _are_ a part of Selenius's family now, if not ours."

Gratitude and relief made itself apparent on Sirius's face, and Hermione felt glad that she finally seemed to have straightened out—perhaps even assuaged—some of Sirius's concerns. It was difficult for the Marauder to be close to the son of a man who he had an exceptionally antagonistic relationship with, and it certainly muddled up and made the situation more confusing than it had any right to be, but it didn't change how Hermione saw things.

Sirius gave the hippogriff a friendly pat on his fearsome beak. "Molly's offered to let me stay at the Burrow tonight, so that I don't have to Apparate with Buckbeak." He laughed. "He doesn't like it. We'll fly to Tine Cottage tomorrow."

Hermione understood. Severus was at Tine Cottage, and Sirius was giving him more time.

She pulled him into a hug. "Thank you, Sirius."

~o~O~o~

Two weeks passed by with surprising quickness. Sirius had moved to Tine Cottage, though he often went flying along the shore of the rocky beach with Buckbeak during the days that Severus visited—which became quite often. It was hardly an issue of whether he could stand to be in the same room as his schoolboy nemesis, but rather that he seemed to have taken Hermione's words to heart, and grudgingly didn't intrude. Severus never made any sort of remark, but Hermione knew that this hadn't escaped him.

Sometimes, she went along. Sometimes, Sirius would stay if she was there, if only so that he could terrify her by teaching Selenius how to fly. The first lesson was one of the few times Hermione had ever seen Sirius and Severus on the same side of anything, even if they had different methods of going about it.

"I don't care how safe Buckbeak is!" Hermione had protested. Of course he was safe—Selenius would never be stupid enough to insult the giant beast, and she herself had ridden him before. But still, Buckbeak was an intelligent, sometimes unpredictable animal, and Hermione had her legitimate concerns. "I don't care if Harry's ridden him!"

"I've ridden him loads of times by now," Sirius pointed out, crossing his arms. "He might have been a little rusty in the beginning—"

"I don't—" Hermione broke off when she saw Sirius's eyes snap to the space behind her, and she wheeled around in time to see Severus lifting their son onto the hippogriff's back. She let out a shriek. "_Severus!"_

The next moment, her husband had swung up onto Buckbeak, just behind Selenius, and leaned forward to grab the space just in front of his wings. He smirked at her, that trouble-promising smirk that had always preceded any form of trouble that he had ever dragged her into. Selenius was grinning like Hermione had never seen before, and he waved at her.

And then they were off. Buckbeak lunged forward, heading straight for the cliff that separated them from the beach below, and spread his wings, and took to the air. Hermione ran after them, skidding to a stop at the rocky ledge to watch, covering her mouth with her hands. Sirius was roaring with laughter.

When they finally landed again, Hermione had buried her face in her palms. She didn't see them dismount, but Selenius was whooping with delight, and then she saw him, when Severus took her hands in his and pulled them away from her face. His expression was impassive, but that was surely for show, because she knew that deep down, in those black eyes of his, he must be just as elated as Selenius.

"It was fine."

And then he kissed her cheek, leading her away before she could unleash a tirade onto him. Chew him out if she must, but it would wait until they got home. Regardless, he still got his way—Selenius was free to ride Buckbeak.

Harry continued to stay at the Burrow, protected, well-fed, and happy. Hermione hardly had a free moment, given she was trying to spend time with her son between Order meetings and other obligations, but she certainly found time to visit her godson at the Burrow. Their conversation was occasionally awkward, usually when Harry offhandedly mentioned something from the _Prophet_ or asked about the Order, and on the even rarer occasions that the subject of Severus came up. And there were moments when he would look at her oddly, trying to connect the girl he knew with the woman she had seemingly transformed into overnight—she couldn't begrudge him that, it was a bit mind-boggling.

But for the most part, the three of them were back together again, though it was nothing like what it used to be. Hermione tried to spend time with them, and though they had plenty to talk about, conversations were often stilted. Things did improve, however. A week before Harry's birthday, Hermione stopped by the Burrow, and she, Harry, and Ron sat around in the attic bedroom, and the subject of the upcoming school year finally found a way into the conversation.

"Dumbledore told me he's giving me private lessons this year," Harry said. From the look on Ron's face, Hermione suspected Harry had already told him. She merely raised an eyebrow at him, and he elaborated, "I don't know on what, really. But it sounds interesting, doesn't it? Like he's finally taking me seriously."

Hermione had to agree. She hadn't yet told them that she would be going back to teaching this year—or anyone else for that matter, only Severus knew—but she thought that now might be a good time to drop that particular bombshell.

"I'll be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year."

Hermione was glad she hadn't done this at breakfast—if either of them had been eating, she was certain they would have choked.

"I taught it for years, before I stopped," she reminded them. "I'll just be picking up where I left off."

"But—but the jinx," Ron spluttered.

"I've gotten around the jinx before. I'll do it again."

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered. And then he suddenly groaned, as a second realization struck him. "You'll be giving out homework!"

"And grading it, too," Hermione said cheerfully.

"So does that mean we call you Professor Granger or Professor Snape?" Ron asked, fiddling with a bag of owl treats that refused to open.

"Professor Granger," Hermione said seriously. "I think a second 'Professor Snape' might be a bit too much for them."

Harry coughed loudly into his hand, and Ron sniggered. But then they both turned somber.

"What happens when they ask if you're related to Hermione Granger?" Ron pointed out reasonably. "I mean, same last name, and you do look alike…"

"Let them wonder," Hermione said, with a mischievous smile.

She was twenty years older now. Age and experience had done a number on her appearance and mannerisms. No one would mistake her for Hermione Granger unless they tried very hard to see it.

Hermione had to color herself very surprised when Fleur arrived the next day, accompanied by Bill—and their wedding engagement was announced. It seemed very sudden to Hermione, but then she supposed that she hadn't really been paying attention to either of them, and she hardly had an opinion anyway. Molly seemed very flustered by this, and while she did her best to make Fleur feel welcome, Hermione could see that she had some misgivings.

Hermione was understandably a bit too distracted by the war to give this much consideration. The _Prophet_ was loudly reporting the Ministry's activities, and it seemed that Scrimgeour had started putting words to action. Just a few names were mentioned, but with them, Hermione knew that at least a dozen names must be attached to them, and that Scrimgeour was quickly and quietly trying to roll in the Dark Lord's networks within the Ministry. To her delight, Umbridge was one of the first to be officially charged, and with the rather serious—but very real—offense of attempting to displace Muggleborn and halfblood employees with direct muggle parentage within the Ministry with Pureblood-supremacy supporters. It crossed a fine line between regular hiring and firing procedure, and an attempt to slowly rid the Ministry of Muggle-borns. Clearly, Scrimgeour was taking this as seriously as Hermione had hoped.

"I'm glad Scrimgeour's doing something," Arthur remarked one morning, as he set the paper down. "They don't print it in the _Prophet_, of course, Scrimgeour doesn't want too much to get out—"

"That's a bit surprising, seeing how badly he wants the Ministry to look like it's doing something," Bill remarked.

Molly shushed him, but it was more because she wanted to hear what her husband had to say. Very little credible information about the Ministry was bandied about, and she was always concerned about the state it was in. "Go on, Arthur."

"Bill has a point, but as I was saying," Arthur said placidly, attempting to keep Molly's frayed nerves at bay, "Scrimgeour doesn't want You-Know-Who's networks to realize that this isn't just random chance on their part. Once he's got this sorted, then I'm sure he'll give the _Prophet_ enough fodder to distract them with."

"Distract them from what?" Ron asked, through a mouthful of bacon pancakes.

"Scrimgeour's making some changes," Arthur said. "Promotions here and there, shuffling people to other spots to make them more useful—he's strategizing," he added. "And from what I heard, he cleaned out the Auror department first so that he can assign them to interview applicants for other departments. He's being ruthless—Shacklebolt said they have license to use Veritserum, without question."

"I don't know if I agree with that, but at least he's not sticking his head in the sand like Fudge," Bill said, frowning.

"Applicants either accept the Veritaserum, or are automatically turned away," Arthur said heavily. "Scrimgeour figures that unless you have something to hide, you won't refuse. And they're tested for the antidote beforehand."

"Where'd he get his information from?" Tonks asked. "I've been wondering that for a while now."

Hermione carefully rested her chin on her hands, not saying a word.

"He's being heavy-handed, I agree," Remus said, helping himself to another serving of pancakes, "but he's not making false arrests and throwing people in jail without trial, which is what I was most worried might happen. As for where he got his information," he said, lifting up his fork and pointing it at Hermione, who tried to look perfectly innocent, "I suggest you ask the Professor over there."

Hermione couldn't keep her face straight any longer, and broke into a grin. "How did you know it was me?"

"Because you went to have a word with Scrimgeour the same day Sirius was pardoned," Remus said matter-of-factly as he cut his pancakes. "I know you too well, Hermione."

Ron's half-mashed food nearly fell out of his mouth at this, and Harry had to thump him on the back a few times before he pulled himself together.

"Besides, you were being much too quiet over there," Remus noted, with a half-smile. "I knew _something_ was up."

"But why would the Minister listen to her?" Harry asked, as Ron swallowed down a glass of pumpkin juice, eyes still watering from choking. "Dumbledore said he didn't want any of his advice, just wanted to use me as a mascot, and now he's gone and done exactly—"

"I don't doubt Dumbledore's right about Scrimgeour not wanting advice from him," Remus interrupted, "but Hermione's always been rather persuasive."

Everyone turned to look at him. Remus cleared his throat.

"She did, after all, talk Fudge into letting Sirius walk out of Azkaban," he added.

Hermione let out a dark sort of chuckle. "One of my finer moments, I'll admit."

"Well, I hope you didn't have to threaten him to do this," Arthur said diplomatically, returning to his paper. "I know you did with Fudge a few times, but Scrimgeour's a different sort of beast."

"No, I didn't threaten him," Hermione said, ignoring the astonished looks on Harry and the younger Weasleys' faces. Ginny looked as though she had forgotten she had food in her mouth, and was staring at her, wide-eyed. "I won't tell you how I did it. The point is that I managed to get a few necessary things done that day, and I'm glad things seem to be resolving themselves on that front."

"You seem to get away with a lot," Ron said weakly, finally setting his empty glass down.

"She does," Arthur casually agreed.

"I'm used to it," Hermione said cheerfully, reaching over to Remus's plate and stabbing a few pancake slices for herself. "My impertinence serves me well."

~o~O~o~

Owls arrived shortly, bearing exam scores. Ron let out a kind of whoop as he read his results and showed them to Molly, who seemed to take the good scores as something worth celebrating. Harry was grinning as he read through his own results, but then she watched his smile seem to melt away as his eyes finally flicked back to one, single score.

"What's wrong?" Hermione's curiosity won over, and she leaned over to take a look.

"I… you weren't here for the career meetings with our Head of House," Harry began with a mutter. "I told Professor McGonagall I wanted to be an Auror."

He pressed the parchment closer for her to read.

"Snape doesn't accept anything less than an 'O'," Harry said quietly.

Hermione was torn, as she took the parchment and read through the rest of his grades. Being an Auror required top marks, and Severus was very stringent about who he let into the class. Hermione chewed her lower lip, thinking. She couldn't just go to her husband and ask him to make an exception. It didn't work like that. He either accepted all students who made an Exceeds Expectations or higher—of which Harry would be a part of—or only allowed students who made an Outstanding, which had been his modus operandi for the past twenty years.

Or…

"I could tutor you," she offered quietly.

"I—what?" Harry asked, not quite believing his ears.

"You've got two months before school starts," she said. "You could re-take the exam—the practical portion of it, anyway—and see if a second score will bring you up to an 'O'."

"Can I—is that possible?" Harry asked, and Hermione saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

She grimaced. It wasn't a question of possibility, but of whether the teacher would offer it. Pomona and Filius had offered it a rare few times while she was teaching, and there had been a student in her third year as a professor who had done abysmally enough to require it. It was simply that Harry generally wasn't the sort of student who needed it, and because he had passed the class with fairly high marks—higher than just an 'Acceptable', anyway—there was little incentive for the Ministry to go through the trouble of arranging a private testing. Particularly given that they didn't want to ask the Ministry for special favors on Harry's part.

"Write Professor Snape a letter," Hermione said at last. "If he says yes, we'll go from there."

Severus decided who to let into his class. If he was willing to test Harry himself, and Harry scored sufficiently high enough, that would be the key to Harry's acceptance.

"I'll bet he says no," Harry muttered under his breath, but left the room, no doubt to look for Hedwig.

When Hermione saw Severus later, when she went to pay Spinner's End a visit, it was to find him poring over not one but two letters, yet, when she peered over his shoulder to have a look, she found that they were rather distinctly alike, despite asking two separate things.

"Narcissa wants to know if I'll lower the grade requirement for my NEWT-level Potions classes," Severus said indifferently, before she could ask. "Draco managed an 'Exceeds Expectations'—which is rather remarkable, given I've never been at all certain he actually pays much attention in class."

"And Harry?" Hermione questioned.

Severus let out a huff of annoyance, and then with a sweep of his hands, tossed both letters into the fireplace. "It doesn't matter now. I can't refuse Narcissa, when I've spent my entire teaching career making exceptions for Draco." She saw him grit his teeth. Under normal circumstances—no, under any other circumstances—he would never have considered lowering the grade. "I'll have to lower the required grade."

"So, Harry won't have to spend the summer studying remedial potions?" Hermione prodded.

"No," Severus snapped. "Though it would certainly make me feel better about letting him into my classroom."

Hermione moved to sit next to him on the couch. "It won't be too bad. I think he's finally starting to get serious about what he wants to do—and being an Auror is hard work."

"I couldn't care less," Severus muttered. He glanced back at the fire, where the remains of the letters were crumbling into ash, and then asked, "What's your cut-off grade?"

"For NEWT-level?"

He sneered. "What else?"

She jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow. "Don't get snarky with me, Severus." She paused. "I seriously considered raising it to an 'O', but then I remembered who they had last year, and decided to give them some slack, just a bit." She rested her cheek against his shoulder. "I'll only ask for an Exceeds Expectations this year, while I have a chance to whip the rising fifth-years into shape."

He let out a snort. "At least you haven't gone completely soft."

"You like soft." She snuggled against him, and he finally relented with a sigh, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her closer.

"That I do." He nuzzled her cheek, but said nothing else.

Two days later, a rather cranky-looking school owl flew through the window of the Burrow and half-landed, half-skidded through the contents of the dinner table to drop a single, small folded piece of parchment at Harry's plate. Everyone gave everyone else a dubious look, and then Harry finally unfurled it.

"What did Professor Snape say, dear?" Molly asked.

Harry took a moment to read the note, and then handed it to Hermione, his face crestfallen.

It simply read: _No, Potter._

"Well, that's just typical," Hermione said, flicking the note back to Harry.

Ron's spoon thunked to the table.

"What does that mean?"

"It means he's decided to lower the grade requirement for sixth-year potions," she said, spooning what was left of the mashed potatoes onto her plate. "But naturally, being the difficult git that he is, he couldn't simply tell Harry that, no, he does _not_ need to retake his Potions exam."

Bill was covering his mouth with his hand, as though that might cover his laughter. Ginny was snorting into her plate. Harry read the note one more time, as though to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him, and then held it up.

"Where, in all of this, does it say that?"

"Between the lines, of course," Hermione quipped.

"Hermione," Remus said wearily.

"Certain circumstances forced him to change the required Potions grade," Hermione clarified cagily, offering the irritated owl a spoonful of mashed potato before waving it away. It nicked a slice of smoked salmon from Ron's plate, and then took off, knocking over Remus's goblet as he passed. Bill hurriedly stood up to spell the table clean again. "Surprisingly, it had absolutely nothing to do with Harry. If you ever find yourself in a death-match duel with Narcissa Malfoy, do be sure to thank her for inadvertently assuring your placement in Severus's sixth-year Potions class."

Ron was the first to get it, and sniggered. "Malfoy didn't pass?"

"He got the same grade Harry did, which wasn't enough to admit him," Hermione said. "The discussion of confidential student information is now closed. Eggnog, anyone?"

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**Please review!**

**-Anubis**


	11. Chapter 12

**A/N: Three days 'til Christmas...**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

**Please review! ;)**

* * *

"The Dark Lord's plotting something, as usual," Severus reported bad-temperedly several weeks later, as he slumped back in the living room couch and bent over to untie his boots. Hermione came to sit next to him, her trusty notebook in hand. "Ever since Scrimgeour scoured out his entire spy network within the Ministry, he's been considering how best to bring it to its knees. He's already got the Dementors—Scrimgeour kicked them out last month, that was quite something…"

Ah, yes. That move had received a fair bit of publicity. Scrimgeour had apparently ordered the Department of Mysteries and the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures to collaborate and eliminate the Dementors guarding Azkaban. They had succeeded, somewhat, in part—the majority of Dementors had escaped, but they had—Merlin only knew how—managed to destroy a fair number of them. The _Prophet_ had questioned whether Scrimgeour had been under the Imperius, after that leaked out.

"But he's after something else," Severus murmured, now sitting back on the couch, looking thoughtful. "There's something he wants more than the Ministry, first. We just don't know what it is."

Hermione thought back through all of the reports Severus had given over the summer, wracking her head for clues, but could think of none. Crookshanks wriggled out from under the couch at that moment and butted his head against her knee, asking for attention, and she absently pulled him into her lap as she thought about Severus's words.

What did Voldemort want more than the Ministry? Or rather, more immediately than the Ministry?

"It has something to do with Hogwarts, this time," Severus said neutrally, reaching over to scratch her ginger half-kneazle's ears. "But beyond that, I haven't a clue. He's smart enough to keep his obsession to himself—for now."

Hermione drummed her fingers thoughtfully, gazing down at her notebook. "What is it, this time?"

"He still seems to be stuck on the Prophecy," Severus said slowly, "and whatever he's focusing on, it seems to be at Hogwarts. But beyond that—I don't know."

Report concluded, Hermione snapped her notebook shut and squeezed in next to her husband on the chair, wrapping her arms around him. He let out a sigh that was in equal parts tired and content, and buried his face in her curls.

"Why did I ever sign up for this?" he mumbled.

"Who, me or the Dark Lord?" Hermione quipped, kissing him.

"You, of course." She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, and he pressed a kiss to the shell of her ear before recanting. "I take it back. Explain what possessed me to shackle myself to the latter."

Hermione stroked his cheek, considering how best to answer him.

"Good intentions carried out the wrong way," she said at last, and then silenced his maudlin thoughts with a kiss on the lips.

~o~O~o~

Buying school supplies was an extraordinarily exasperating affair, if only because Dumbledore had to fight with Scrimgeour to get him to allow Hagrid to stand in as Harry's security detail instead of the group of Aurors the Minister had in mind. Hermione did not accompany them for this, preferring instead to use the several hours that they would be gone to take Selenius for an early birthday treat. Despite the fact that Harry and Ron would be in Diagon Alley, Hermione knew it was likely so crowded that, if she disguised herself, no one would recognize her.

She took Sirius along with them.

A trip to Fortescue's for ice cream left them sitting outside the parlor, watching the people pass by in nervous, worried groups. Some people stopped to stare at Sirius, as though they couldn't believe he was out in public. A rare few smiled at him. Some pointed and whispered. But for the most part, they were well left alone.

"It feels strange to be in public again," Sirius said, as he sat back with his own sundae. "I haven't been out in ages."

There were a few sellers here and there, but most of them had cleaned up shop over a week ago, when Scrimgeour had started assigning members of the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects Department—an excessively long Department name, but a valid and useful one nonetheless—to patrol Wizarding London. Arthur had refused a promotion to the department, but had been brought on as a consultant nonetheless.

"What do you want for your birthday?" Hermione asked, as she fought to keep her ice cream from melting down her hands. Selenius had ordered a sinfully large chocolate sundae, which Hermione had capitulated to despite the fact that she could practically hear her parents scolding her at the sugary excess. "A trip to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes? They just opened, but I think you'll like what they have. Or maybe Flourish and Blotts—or perhaps the Magical Menagerie, we could get you a cat or an owl—"

"Can I get a new broomstick?" Selenius asked hopefully.

Hermione hesitated. It wasn't the cost of the broom that concerned her, but the fact that she knew exactly why he was asking. Since Harry had set a precedent, first-years were allowed to try out for the Quidditch Team, and she had no illusions about the fact that her son was clearly determined to have a go. A Bluebottle was a good broomstick, but it would hardly suit for the fast-pasted affair of a Quidditch match. Even she knew that the faster the broom, the better the player.

The conflict must have been apparent on her face, because Sirius laughed. "You can't say no, Professor. He's got to have a proper broom for Quidditch try-outs."

She knew he was right. She didn't _like_ it, but truth to be told, it didn't seem fair to Selenius. He would have to use an old school broom, because even an old Cleansweep model went faster than Selenius's Bluebottle. Her only reservation was the fact that she didn't particularly care for brooms, and that seemed like a poor reason to say no.

Besides, he would most likely take the case up with his father if she said no, and that would turn into a drawn-out scenario in which she would likely lose, and make getting the actual present a less enjoyable experience. She resigned herself to it, and capitulated.

"Alright," she said. "Finish up your ice cream, and we'll go."

It seemed to take all of Selenius's self-control not to let out a whoop in the middle of Diagon Alley, but instead began wolfing down the rest of his birthday sundae in record time. Five minutes later, he was half-dragging them down the street to visit Quality Quidditch Supplies.

"We are _not_ getting him a Firebolt," Hermione hissed in Sirius's ear, just before they stepped into the shop.

Sirius held his hands up in surrender. "Yes, your dictatorship."

She elbowed him, but there was no real force behind it. Hermione felt rather lost in a Quidditch supplies shop, but fortunately, Sirius was there to happily debate the qualities of the available brooms. She dithered for a moment, and after being forced to dodge because someone's five-year-old daughter had decided to try out one of the toy brooms, she ducked out of the shop.

She waited five minutes. Ten. After waiting outside the shop for a full half-hour, they finally emerged, with Selenius carrying his prized package over his shoulder. It was wrapped up, so Hermione couldn't see the make or model, but at that point, she was glad that they were no longer broom-buying.

"Where next?" she asked loftily, thinking of perhaps stopping by Fred and George's joke shop, just to see it for herself.

"Home," Selenius said eagerly.

"You're sure?" Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "You can always try it later—"

She suddenly broke off as she glimpsed Hagrid's enormous form in the crowd up ahead, and realized that Harry and Ron were likely about to come through. She was disguised, but Sirius was not, and the presence of Selenius would raise questions. Harry knew, but not everything. She didn't want him seeing Selenius just yet. She quickly reversed herself.

"—or we can go right now if that's what you want, I'm sure you want to give it a go."

Selenius snorted, and Sirius seemed to be trying very hard not to smile, as she grabbed them both and Apparated away.

~o~O~o~

Packing was a bit of a logistical nightmare. Selenius didn't do it quite right the first time, and Sirius had never been very good at packing spells. It was why, nearly a quarter of an hour before they were due to leave for the train, Hermione had to dump Selenius's things and quickly enspell them back into his trunk, properly folded and neatly tucked. She had not bought Selenius a familiar as she had originally mused upon, but instead decided to give him Crookshanks—the half-kneazle was practically a family pet at this point, but he had originally belonged to Hermione, and they had been through a fair bit together. She trusted her cat's judgment, and knew that if anything were to happen, he would stand by Selenius if she asked him to.

They arranged it so that they would go through the barrier fifteen minutes before Harry and the Weasleys arrived, giving Hermione and Sirius enough time to get his luggage on the train, and to say their good-byes. She would be teaching, and taking the train to Hogwarts, so no good-byes were necessary, but she still hugged him and wished him luck—not as his professor, but as his mother.

And then she boarded the train and began walking down the aisle, not quite picking out a seat. The students noticed her, of course, but most of them were more concerned with finding compartments with their friends or getting around her. A few minutes later, she spotted Harry and Ron climbing into the compartment, and slid into the one where Neville and Luna were sitting, knowing Harry and Ron would likely join them. She wasn't going to go looking for Selenius—she couldn't keep looking over his shoulder every step of the way. It was a bit unfortunate that he had to come to Hogwarts when she was teaching, but she was determined to give him the same space that she had automatically gotten from her parents because of the sheer distance.

Her two best friends joined them a moment later, followed by Ginny, and shut the door, giving them privacy and drowning out most of the chatter of the other passengers. The train suddenly gave a jolt, and then lurched forward.

"You're a bit late," Hermione commented.

"Got held up," Harry said, sitting across from her.

"So," Neville said, looking at her as though he couldn't quite believe it, "You're… Hermione?"

"It's a secret," Ron snapped.

"It's not like Neville wasn't with us," Ginny said, elbowing him. "Be nice. Yes, it's her—it's complicated, though. And no one else is supposed to know."

"And from now on, you'll be calling me Professor Granger," Hermione said, sitting back in her seat and folding her arms. "I will, of course, deny any and all relation to Hermione Granger, and everyone will think it's just a nominal coincidence."

"It's not a coincidence," Luna said dreamily. "Bellatrix Lestrange said it was something to do with falling back in time—did you get attacked by angry Temporalopes?"

"Dare I ask?" Ginny said, looking at Luna warily.

"No, I broke a Time-Turner," Hermione said calmly.

"I've been wondering about that," Ron said. "Something never made sense about that—why'd you still have a Time-Turner?"

Hermione shrugged. "I was young, stupid, and decided not to turn it in."

The train had picked up speed now, and was steadily plowing along. Hermione gestured at Ron.

"You're a Prefect, remember? You're supposed to patrol the corridor."

"Wha—oh, right!" Ron quickly stood up. "I'll be back in a bit."

"Who's the new sixth-year Gryffindor prefect?" Harry asked, when the door shut behind them. "I mean, now that you're not…"

"Parvati Patil," Hermione said, reclining. "If I _had_ stayed, I might have made it as Head Girl, but I'm afraid Susan Bones has that honor." She gave a mock salute. "I wish her well."

Neville laughed. "You're a Professor now, that's sort of a step-up from Head Girl, isn't it?"

"I'm surprised you didn't make Head Girl back in your time," Ginny said. "In your sixth year, I mean."

"As if," Hermione snorted. "I got into too much trouble for that."

"You, a troublemaker?" Neville asked dubiously.

"Some of my friends were a bad influence on me."

Ginny snickered.

There was a sudden mechanical screeching sound, and they all covered their ears. Hermione was on her feet in an instant, nearly bumping into Ron, who had returned to their compartment.

"Something's gone wrong with the train—it's slowing down—"

There was a sudden, loud _clang_ as something heavy landed on top of the train. Several students screamed, and somewhere down in a compartment further toward the rear, she heard one boy yell, "—a tail! It's got a tail!"

"I'll handle it," she said grimly, side-stepping him into the aisle. All around, students were peering out of their compartments, just as bewildered as to what was wrong, and she snapped loudly, "Everyone, stay put!"

Several heads withdrew, giving Hermione a clear view of the corridor. She slipped her wand out, and followed the sound of the clanging as it steadily thunked along the length of the train. She stopped when they were about to cross paths, and pointed her wand at the ceiling.

"_Confringo!"_

There was a blast as the ceiling ruptured, and for a moment, Hermione wasn't certain about what she was seeing. The scaly underbelly of a giant, blue-black beast covered her view, and then a large head poked through the hole she had made.

A dragon. A small one, certainly, but Hermione couldn't help but gaze at it with stupefied horror as she realize just what had attacked their train. There was no hexing it—she would need a dozen strong wizards to stun it. She could attack its eyes, but that would probably just make it set the train on fire faster. She was already formulating a plan, even as the large, reptillian head opened its mouth, no doubt to let loose a burst of flame.

"_Incarcerous!"_

Thick, bulky chains snapped around the dragon's mouth, yanking it shut. There was a loose end, which Hermione grabbed hold of just as the dragon whipped its head back in alarm. Hermione's back and shoulders knocked and scraped painfully against the jagged edges of the hole as she was dragged out, and she swung helplessly for a moment, before grabbing hold of one of the spines along its neck. It was a shockingly small dragon, perhaps the smallest Hermione had ever seen.

It was more along the lines of what wealthy collectors who didn't care to follow the law would try to breed in the privacy of large property, Hermione thought, as she tried to swing herself upright. Her grip slipped, causing her to dangle dangerously close to the edge of the stopped train. Something someone with a lot of time and money would do: breed a miniature dragon. If a dragon the size of a winged Abraxan could be considered 'miniature'.

It thrashed wildly, trying to dislodge her, and large claws raked across her front, snagging her cheek and shoulder, leaving behind a frightening gash. She narrowly avoided losing an eye, and kicked forward, catching the dragon in the chest. Its head sharply yanked back, its wings thrust, and the sudden movement caused Hermione to swing sharply around in an arc. She grabbed the opportunity, scrambling to hook her leg over its back, and yanked on the chain to force its head back down.

_Please don't fly, please don't fly…_ If this monster took off with her on its back, she was doomed. There was a reason she hated broomsticks, and that was because she didn't do well with heights. She yanked again and flicked her wand at the chain, causing it to lengthen and—still trying not to get thrown off by the struggling, fearsome thing—she snagged it around one of the claws on its right wing, looping it over before giving a harsh yank. It lost its balance, and its claws left deep gouges in the roof of the train as it tried to cling on. Hermione allowed herself to slide off, the back of her head thumping against the edge of the hole as she fell back into the compartment corridor below, the jagged metal scraping against her back—and then the dragon promptly thrashed to the ground, still struggling with the chain.

The train gave a surprised lurch, and Hermione realized that the conductor must have been trying to get it to start again during the struggle, because it gave another unsettling jolt, and then began to pick up speed. She watched the dragon thrash and struggle on the side of the train tracks as she gingerly repaired the hole in the roof of the train. A burst of flame could be seen out of one of the windows as it began melting its bonds, but it was quite well left behind now, and Hermione let out a sigh of relief.

She barely registered the noise the students were making as she walked over to the nearest window for another look. The shoulder of her robe was soaked in blood, and the back of her head stung painfully, but it wasn't debilitating, and she would take care of her face as soon as they got to Hogwarts. Poppy hadn't failed her yet. But it certainly hurt like nothing else, and she was glad she'd avoided getting burned on top of this.

No, what bothered her—aside from the pain, but that could be ignored for now—was how this had happened. Dragons did not simply fly over the Hogwarts Express and attack it. Rarer still were dragons that were clearly a specialized, likely illegal breed. The Disposal Committee would have a field day with this. Who had put it up to this? Had Voldemort found a follower with a private stable of dragons they were attempting to breed down to an acceptable housekeeping size?

And if that was the case—if this wasn't simply random, unfortunate chance of someone's private project running wild—why would Voldemort attack the train? Had they perhaps been hoping to ambush the train, frightening the students with the presence of a dragon, perhaps even use it to swing the Hogwarts Express off the tracks and crash it? She was glad they had started moving again almost immediately, because she didn't want to find out what would happen if they hung around and waited to figure out what to do.

Thankful that the dragon hadn't been one of the wilder, bigger breeds, Hermione staggered to the front of the train to have a word with the conductor.

~o~O~o~

"Move along," Tonks' voice rang through the crowd as the students hustled off the Hogwarts Express. "Make sure you've got your stuff—first years over here, please—_wotcher!_"

"Hullo, Tonks," Hermione said dully, as she stepped off the train.

"What the buggering hell happened to _you?_" The Auror looked stunned. Several of the younger students stopped to mill around to listen, until Ron appeared behind them and ordered them to budge along.

"I got into a fight with a dragon." Hermione shook her sleeve. "Did you know that there are, apparently, full-grown dragons the size of winged horses? I didn't think they bred them that small."

There were a few titters from some of the second-years, before they were unceremoniously shoved off the train by yet another irritated, pale-faced Prefect.

"You know," Tonks remarked, as she and Hermione began walking toward the carriages, "for someone who just fought a dragon, you look alright."

Hermione let out a rueful laugh.

"You should go to the Hospital Wing first," Tonks said, stopping to check that one of the carriage doors were properly closed, and then opening the next one and stepping inside. Hermione followed. "Get Poppy to take a look at you."

They greeted the two students seated across from them, and then shut the door, studiously ignoring the fact that they were outright staring at Hermione's bloody and disheveled appearance.

Hermione grimaced. "I don't want to miss the Sorting."

"I don't think you want to walk into the Great Hall looking like this, either."

"Bloody hell, why not? It's not like half the school hasn't already seen or heard me get thrown around on the train," Hermione groused.

"Because the Minister's here," Tonks said solemnly.

Hermione groaned.

"Now I almost wish I'd been eaten by a dragon."

When they arrived at the castle, Hermione got off the carriage, and preceded the students to the Entrance Hall, meaning to make a quick trip to the infirmary, but was stopped by the lion-faced Minister himself. He seemed to not quite recognize her at first, but quickly recovered himself as he was assured that his eyes were not deceiving him.

"What happened to you?" he asked roughly.

"Everyone keeps asking me that," Hermione snapped, shoving past him. Scrimgeour followed.

"Did you get attacked on the train?" he demanded, falling into step beside her.

"Yes, what was your first clue?" she sniped back. "Don't worry, I'll send an owl to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures—I'm sure they'll enjoy this."

Scrimgeour looked as though he would like to ask more, but he turned to go back to the Entrance Hall, not wanting to hold up the undoubtedly tight schedule he was on. Hermione hurried on to the Hospital Wing, hoping that she might get back in time to see the rest of the Sorting.

Poppy's jaw dropped when Hermione slipped in, but a single, pointed look from the Defense teacher halted any interrogation; it was clear that she wasn't in the mood to answer questions, other than the pertinent ones. As she had hoped, the Matron had her cleaned up in a trice, though she warned Hermione that she didn't have any dittany in stock, and that she ought to go down to get some first.

Hermione didn't care about the scarring, at the moment. She rushed back to the Great Hall, and inwardly started cursing as she realized that she had missed the Sorting, but arrived just in time for Dumbledore's start-of-term speech.

"—our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, who—ah!" Dumbledore stopped in mid-sentence to smile at her. "Here she is. Professor Granger is an old colleague of mine, who taught the position for five years nearly a decade ago, and I'm pleased to welcome her back this year."

Hermione raised her hand half-heartedly in acknowledgement as the students clapped, straightening her shoulders and striding up to the Staff Table. She would get the Dittany later. There were loud whispers, too, though she wasn't at all surprised. She took her seat near the end of the table, between Severus and the Arithmancy professor.

"What happened to you?" Severus hissed under his breath as the applause died down, and Dumbledore resumed speaking.

"A dragon attacked the train," Hermione answered in an undertone, twisting Gaunt's ring around her finger with unease. "I look alright, don't I?"

Severus eyed her cheek. "Essence of Dittany might be in order, I think."

"Yes, so I've been told." Hermione surveyed the room, trying to find Selenius. "What house was he Sorted into?"

Severus didn't need to ask who. "Gryffindor," he said shortly. He didn't miss the grin that spread across Hermione's face, and snapped, "Yes, yes, go on; gloat. I know you're just dying to say it."

"No, I'm not," Hermione replied, but she was still smiling. "I'm just pleased. I would have been just as happy if he had gone to Slytherin—or any other house, for that matter."

Severus muttered something unintelligible under his breath, but Hermione knew he wouldn't argue it further, simply because she was telling the truth. She glanced over at Minerva, who gave her a thin sort of smile, the kind she gave when she was trying to be subtle about the fact that she was pleased.

"I just hope he'll be happy in Gryffindor," Hermione murmured quietly. "I hope he won't stand out like I did—too studious and opinionated for my own good…"

"Quite," Severus said flatly.

If they hadn't been in the Great Hall, in plain sight of all the students, Hermione would have elbowed him. Dumbledore concluded his speech—highlighting that in light of Voldemort's return, responsibility for personal safety and the safety of the school at large must be taken by every staff and student—and then inclined his head at Scrimgeour, who was sitting at the opposite end of the table, where an extra chair had been added for him.

"The Ministry of Magic has spent the summer arranging for additional safety measures for Hogwarts," Dumbledore stated, "but I will leave the explanation to Minister Scrimgeour, as he would like to tell you about them himself."

"Thank you, Headmaster Dumbledore." Scrimgeour slowly stood up.

"As some of you may be aware—you might even have been students, at this time—the Ministry once sought to protect Hogwarts using Dementors. Multiple incidents that threatened the safety of the students could have been avoided if my predecessor had not…"

Hermione's eyes flickered from Scrimgeour to Gryffindor table, running along the row until she located Harry and Ron—then Ginny—and then several seats further, Selenius. Satisfied, she reluctantly turned her attention back to the Minister.

"…this year, Aurors will be posted within the school and Hogsmeade, and we will be employing the use of Kneazles instead to help detect and detain dangerous individuals. This will hopefully be much more effective and less dangerous to Hogwarts as a whole, but I must ask that you not take unnecessary risks with these creatures, nor that you deliberately provoke them."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "The Ministry's certainly been busy," he muttered.

"It's still a step-up from Dementors," Hermione murmured. "Or dragons. I know Fudge also suggested dragons, once."

Severus made a disparaging sound, but said nothing.

"The Ministry," Scrimgeour finished gravelly, "is making a concerted effort to protect the Wizarding community while we deal with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. We require nothing more than your cooperation and awareness." He stepped back. "That is all."

There was slight applause at this, though a murmur had risen among the students as they discussed the piece of information that they found most curious—the Kneazles. That would certainly be interesting, though Hermione found herself highly optimistic about their usefulness when she considered her own half-kneazle. Scrimgeour made to leave, but when he glanced at her, Hermione reluctantly realized he was waiting for her to follow.

"I'll be right back," she mumbled.

As soon as they were outside the Great Hall, Scrimgeour stopped to speak to her.

"One of the Aurors notified me about what happened on the train in greater detail," he informed her. "I've already contacted the Committee, but have asked them not to dispose of the dragon, should they locate it."

"Odd thing to do, Minister."

"If it's as small as reported, it certainly bears investigating," Scrimgeour said. "I'm also aware of the fact that if we should locate it, Rubeus Hagrid would be more than happy to take care of it while we try to figure out why it attacked your train, and who released it."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. He knew about Hagrid's love for dangerous beasts, but this wasn't about Hagrid. "What do you want, Minister?"

"The information you gave me," Scrimgeour said roughly, "was exceptionally accurate."

"I can't do that," Hermione hissed, knowing exactly what he was asking. He wanted her to be his source. "Sooner or later, they'll figure out who's giving it to you, and it will place certain key figures in this war in jeopardy."

"Then why did you do it before?" Scrimgeour demanded in an undertone.

"Because I _could_. Because you could catch them off guard, and when you started with one person, it invariably let to a string of other supporters," Hermione said, her voice low. "It was logical—the idea that you caught one, and that it led to others, and then you went on a massive purge when you realized how deep the roots went. But I can't allow them to see a pattern. You just have to look like you're being effective all on your own."

Scrimgeour looked as though he might push further, as though he might insist—even demand, or order her to give him more information. She saw him grit his teeth, and was struck with the impression of a tawny lion, old and limping, but still with quite a bit of power packed in his paws. Scrimgeour wore the air of someone tough and shrewd, and Hermione had to admit she had just a tiny inkling of respect for him—he was certainly better than Fudge.

But he capitulated instead, much to her surprise. As though he knew that the way to work with her was not to force her, but to let her come and go as she pleased—impertinent and impudent as always, but arriving when she was most needed.

"Very well," he conceded stiffly. "And as for the matter of Harry Potter?"

"Keep up the good work, and I'll bring him 'round for Christmas," Hermione said, not to be easily swayed.

"You don't ask for much," Scrimgeour said, his expression sour.

"I'm not asking this for me," Hermione said, drawing herself up to her full height. "I ask this for everyone who needs the Ministry to do its duty."

She wasn't certain if the calculating look Scrimgeour gave her was complimentary or not, but he finally departed. Knowing that dinner had already begun, Hermione decided to go down to the dungeons instead and nick from Severus's supply of Dittany.

* * *

**Please review!**

**-Anubis**


	12. Chapter 13

**A/N: Two days 'til Christmas...**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

**Please review! ;)**

* * *

Harry wasn't sure what to make of the rumors. He had been one of the students who had stuck their head out of their compartment on the train to watch Hermione wrestle with the absurdly small—but no less dangerous—dragon that had attack them on their journey to Hogwarts. Now the other students had put the two and two together, and no one would simply shut up about the fact that the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had started off by fighting off a dragon, particularly when several students whispered that the jinx on the job might have tried to stop her before she had even begun.

She appeared in the Great Hall for breakfast, but acted as though she didn't know them. Harry didn't begrudge her this—she wasn't _supposed_ to know them, technically—and instead waited his turn to work out his schedule with McGonagall while finishing up his meal. Still, it was odd sitting at the table with just Ron.

"Potter," McGonagall said, looking over her notes, "Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology… I was very pleased with your Transfiguration score, I'll be happy to have you in my class. Potions, of course, since Professor Snape is accepting students with an 'Exceeds Expectations' this year." Harry thought she saw her sniff disapprovingly at this ever so slightly, and knew she must know exactly why. Still, he wasn't going to complain. It meant he could continue on his path to becoming an Auror. "Care of Magical Creatures?"

"Yes," Harry said. He had considered not signing up, but had reversed this decision at the last minute.

"Very well, Potter." She tapped a blank sheet of parchment, and the details instantly filled out. "Here is your schedule. Additionally, twenty-one hopefuls have already put down their names for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I shall pass the list to you in due course, and it will be up to you to schedule the trials."

"Thank you, Professor." McGonagall moved on, and a few minutes later, he and Ron left the hall. The latter had been cleared to take the same classes as Harry, minus Care of Magical Creatures.

"We have a free period now… and a free period after break… and a free period after lunch…_excellent_…"

"Not me," Harry said, shouldering his bag. "I've got Care of Magical Creatures after lunch."

"You signed up for that?" Ron asked, as they took the stairs back to the common room. "What did you do that for?"

Harry shrugged in non-answer. He didn't want to tell Ron that aside from not wanting to make Hagrid feel bad—after all, who else would be taking his NEWT-level class?—Harry had thought that all things considered, the stuff Hagrid had taught them was pretty useful. Even the lesson with Blast-End Skrewts had paid off; if Harry hadn't been dealing with them for half a year before going through the maze, he didn't think he'd have known the first thing on how to stop it. Hagrid's lessons might not be _orthodox_, but he put it at the same level as Potions: hate the class, respect the results. Best of all, he actually liked the teacher.

The common room was nearly empty, save for a few of the seventh years. He had a quick word with Katie Bell about the trials, while Ron threw a Fanged Frisbee that he had confiscated earlier. Crookshanks appeared from nowhere, darting out from under a dresser and launching himself at the snarling disk.

"What's he doing here?" Ron grumbled, as the half-kneazle pounded the Fanged Frisbee into the carpet. "I thought we'd be well rid of him now."

"Crookshanks!" Harry's head snapped around, and for a moment, he thought he might have walked into an alternate universe. One of the newly sorted first-years was coming down the stairs, but he looked familiar. Not as though Harry knew him, but as though he was seeing someone else in him. Tall for his age and pale with black hair that fell past his ears, he looked rather out of place.

The boy scooped the protesting cat up in his arms, and nudged the frisbee back over to Ron with his toe. "Sorry about that."

Ron was gaping at him, and Harry quickly stepped on his foot. The red-head recomposed himself, and bent down to swipe up the battered, whimpering toy.

"You're Harry Potter, right?" The boy held out his hand, still holding onto Crookshanks with one hand. The half-kneazle glared at Harry, as though saying, _save me from this indignity_. "I'm Selenius Black. You're the Quidditch captain, aren't you? When are the trials?"

"I—er—haven't fully figured that out yet," Harry said, shaking Selenius's hand, still trying to figure out how his name and appearance fit, but it was like cramming two unmatched puzzle pieces together. "I'll put up a notice when I've decided."

"_Excellent._" And then Selenius was off running back up the stairs, Crookshanks in tow, leaving the stupefied pair.

Harry and Ron looked at each other.

A moment later, Selenius came tearing down the stairs again, this time with Crookshanks following at his heels, and was out the portrait hole, half-muttering half-chanting a mantra of, "Late, late, _late!_"

Harry and Ron shared a look.

"This is going to be an interesting year," Ron quipped, flopping down into one of the armchairs. "Which class d'you suppose the poor sod has first?"

~o~O~o~

Harry and Ron walked inside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom half an hour later, to find Hermione sitting at her desk. She didn't look up from her work as the students arrived, and they milled around for a moment before finding a seat and waiting. The room was unchanged, though there was a small glass vase on Hermione's—Professor Granger's, Harry mentally reminded himself—desk. There was a single red rose in it, and Harry wondered if someone had given it to her, or if she had picked it for herself.

She set her papers aside a moment later, and stood up.

"My name is Professor Granger," she began.

"Are you related to Hermione Granger?" Terry Boot asked suddenly.

"The missing girl?" Professor Granger asked, her tone perfectly casual. "No, I'm not related to her."

Terry Boot looked a bit crestfallen; Harry knew that he and Hermione had gotten on rather well, and that he was one of the non-Gryffindors who had taken her disappearance rather badly.

"I first began teaching this class when I was nineteen," Professor Granger said, her voice without inflection, as she surveyed the room. "Because of that, I made it a rule to allow upperclassmen to challenge me, just in case they thought I wasn't up to snuff."

Harry's eyes widened at this, and he wasn't the only one. He glanced over at Malfoy, whose brow was furrowed, and who for once did not look sneeringly disdainful. He actually looked slightly wary.

"I doubt any of you have the desire to do so, but I feel it's only fair to offer you the same chance to continue the tradition," Professor Granger said, her tone light.

"Did anyone ever beat you?" Parvati asked, looking interested.

"No," Hermione said pleasantly. And, Harry thought, just a bit proudly. "But by the end of the year, many of them did give me a run for my money."

"Where did you learn to wrestle a dragon?" Dean Thomas asked eagerly.

Hermione grinned, making the new, vertical scar on her left cheek stand out. Harry hadn't noticed it until now. "The same way I learned to fight Death Eaters."

She laughed, though not unpleasantly, but it still made a shiver run down Harry's spine.

"What I'm going to teach you," she said, folding her arms, "is more than just how to cast spells. The Dark Arts require more than just memorization—to have any hope of prevailing, you have to be cunning and quick on your feet. You have to learn to identify, to know when to run, and learn how to defend. You must _internalize_ this information. In short," she said, straightening up to her full height, "you have to learn to use your head and your instincts."

She gave them a moment to let this sink in.

"The Dark Lord is out there," she said, her words quiet but serious, and easily heard throughout the room. "And even if he were not, there will always be others just like him. The Dark Arts are a part of our lives just as surely as any other branch of magic, and to ignore it out of fear will serve no purpose."

She rapped her hand loudly against her desk, causing them all to jump.

"You will either adapt and survive, or you won't make it through this class alive," she snapped, and Harry was stunned by the ice in her tone. "I will expect your full and undivided attention and effort in this class. Now," she said, leaning against her desk, "how many of you know offensive and defensive spells?"

Most of them raised their hands, and as Harry counted, he realized that the majority of them were from the DA. Everyone from Ernie Macmillian and Terry Boot to Ron and himself.

"Good," she said approvingly. "Good… most of you were in Dumbledore's Army last year, weren't you? Yes, I heard about that," she said, registering Ernie's startled expression. "Excellent. You're all much better prepared than I had anticipated."

She raised her hands, palms level, in an indication for them to rise. They did.

"You will now divide yourself into pairs," she said, flicking her wand. There was a glint of gold on her hand, and Harry realized that she was wearing a rather peculiar-looking ring. He wracked his head to remember where he had seen it before, and then realized that Hermione had been wearing it almost all summer. The desks immediately slid out from around them, and stacked themselves up neatly against the wall. "You're sixth-years now, so it's time to step things up. One partner will attempt to jinx, the other to defend, using non-verbal magic."

Ron's jaw dropped in horror.

"Can anyone tell me why non-verbal magic is important?" Hermione asked lightly.

Terry Boot raised his hand. Hermione nodded at him, and he answered, "It gives you a split-second advantage, Professor. If you don't give your opponent verbal warning, it makes it harder for them to parry."

"Excellent phrasing, Mr. Boot. Ten points to Ravenclaw. Yes," Hermione continued, as they started shuffling into groups of two, "it does give you an advantage. It requires a good deal of mental discipline, but it is an important and highly useful skill."

She paused for a moment, and then added, "Points will be given for non-verbally cast spells. Points will be deducted for cheating." Ron looked horrified. "Begin."

"I'm doomed," the red-head whimpered.

"I'll go first," Harry muttered.

The first ten minutes of the lesson went without any progress. Professor Granger walked around the rooms, eyes narrowed, observing them critically. Pansy Parkinson attempted to get away with a whispered Jelly-Legs Jinx, and fifteen points were deducted from Slytherin.

"Spells are not cast because you speak them," Hermione lectured, ignoring the girl glaring at her back as she turned to watch Neville's red-faced efforts. "They are cast because when you speak, you have force and motivation behind your words! That is what casts your spell! You must draw up that impetus to will your spell without having to make a war-cry out of it."

Harry screwed his concentration together, but he let out a startled yelp when a moment later, Neville unexpectedly shot off a perfect, silently-cast Stunner. It hit Seamus, who toppled to the floor.

"Excellent! Excellent, Mr. Longbottom!" Professor Granger praised, as Neville stared down at his practice partner in shock. "Fifteen points to Gryffindor. _Again!_"

~o~O~o~

"It almost feels like Mad-Eye Moody again," Ron muttered, "or the bloke who was impersonating him in fourth year, anyway."

"Just without the paranoia," Harry agreed, as they made their way down to Potions.

"But she didn't give us as much homework as I thought," Ron said, looking pleased. "Just a foot of parchment on defending against Unforgivables, that's not too bad. I can do four inches for each one."

"Just wait," Harry said, as they walked through the dungeons. "I'll bet Snape gives us loads."

Ron groaned.

"Harry! Hey, Harry!" They both turned around in time to see Jack Sloper hurrying to catch up to them, panting. He held out a scroll of parchment. "For you."

"Thanks," Harry said, unrolling the parchment.

"No problem. Hey, listen—I heard you made Captain. When're you holding trials?"

"No idea," Harry said, as he read Dumbledore's letter. Ron peered over his shoulder to look at it. "Might be the weekend after next, I'll let you know."

The door to the classroom opened, and Snape stood there, scowling at them.

"Inside," he said coldly.

Harry pocketed the missive, and then he, Ron, and the other students waiting in the corridor reluctantly tramped inside. The door shut behind with a foreboding clang, and Harry and Ron were quick to find seats together, and were soon joined by Ernie Macmillian, the only Hufflepuff in the room. Harry counted ten other students besides himself.

"Many of you are aware that under normal circumstances, I only allow the best to go on to NEWT-level work," Snape said smoothly, striding to the front of the room. "However, this year, due to the unusually low number of students who scraped by with barely more than an 'Acceptable'—in part due to the many insufferable distractions from last year—I have agreed to make an exception, at the Headmaster's request."

His gaze landed on Harry, and then slid over to Malfoy, and Harry had the distinct feeling that Snape wasn't pleased to see either of them. The Potions professor absolutely despised lowering his standards. It was probably a matter of pride to him.

"Therefore, I expect you to make the very best of this opportunity," he said, his lip curling in a sneer, "because if you do not put all of your effort into this endeavor, you will leave this class and not be given a second chance."

Harry heard Ron swallow, and tried to keep his gaze straight. He wasn't going to give Snape a good reason to throw him out. He _needed_ this class. He had been willing to spend the summer studying to retake it if it would mean he would have a fair chance at becoming an Auror. He wasn't going to let that dream slip out of his fingers, no matter how badly Snape might provoke him. He might respect the man just a tiny bit more than before, after what he had seen in Grimmauld Place, but he was just as nasty and acerbic as ever.

"The Draught of Living Death," Snape drawled, flicking his wand at the board, where instructions immediately appeared, "is a difficult potion, but nothing you shouldn't be able to accomplish if you deserve to be in this class."

He eyed the room with a cold, cruel smirk.

"Any melted cauldrons today," he whispered, "and you will not return tomorrow. Now get to work!"

Harry and Ron exchanged horrified looks, and then joined the other students in setting up their cauldrons and scales. Harry leaned forward and read Snape's instructions carefully, determined not to fail this, and then got to work. He re-read each instruction twice, feverishly following it to the letter as though his life depended on it, hovering over his potion with worry and fear at the start of each following step.

He could have fainted with relief when his potion turned the correct shade as dictated for the half-way stage, and then immediately set about crushing his sopophorus with the flat side of his knife.

"Sir," he heard one of the Ravenclaws ask. "Sir, the instructions on the board… it's not the same as the ones in the book…"

Snape immediately swooped down on the offending student. "Do you have any problem with my instructions?" he asked dangerously.

Harry didn't even look at Ron, merely shook his head in exasperation, wondering who on earth would be stupid enough to question Snape, particularly when he was already in a foul mood.

"No sir, I just thought—"

Harry tuned out the rest of the conversation as he poured the juice into his cauldron, and let out a pent-up sigh of gratitude to whatever gods were looking after him—it had turned the exact shade of lilac described in the book. They were using the book as reference for what their potion should look like, but as the Ravenclaw just moments ago had found out, they were apparently using deviated instructions.

Harry made a mental note to ask Hermione about that later. It wasn't a big deal, really, but he was curious. He glanced over at Ron's cauldron, which was light purple, not quite the right shade of color, but far better than what he might have hoped for. Sweat beaded down Harry's forehead, getting into his eyes, and forcing him to take off his glasses and wipe his face before moving onto the next step.

When Snape finally called for them to stop, Harry and Ron sat in their seats, resolute but terrified that Snape might use any fault in their potion to dismiss them. They waited as he took a turn around the room. Snape seemed determined to send at least one of them packing, but Harry watched those hopes crash and burn from Snape's face as he stared at the cauldron of the last two students, at least one of whom he thought might give him the pleasure of kicking out.

Harry watched him grit his teeth as he took in Harry's potion, which was nearly identical to the book's description, and then turn to Ron's, which was a few shades off but not unsalvageable.

"Acceptable," he bit out. "Now all of you, get out of my sight!"

Harry tried to keep the elation from showing on his face. Ron looked like he might pass out at any moment. Neither of them waited a second longer than they had to; they decanted the contents of their potions and dropped them off at Snape's desk before grabbing their things and fleeing the dungeons.

~o~O~o~

It was with some reluctance that Harry tiredly traipsed down to Hagrid's hut after lunch for Care of Magical Creatures. It had already been a long day, and he dreaded thinking about what kind of beast Hagrid might show them today. He stopped several yards away when he realized that Hagrid was talking to someone wearing robes that bore the familiar 'M' of the Ministry of Magic. He approached slowly, unsure of whether he should be here or not, or if Hagrid had possibly forgotten he had a one-person class arriving.

"We'll be by to check on it later," the man was saying, as Harry neared. "The Committee was more than happy to turn it over to us, that's our thing you know, and the Minister insisted…"

Hagrid was nodding happily, and looked up in time to see Harry. He waved him over.

"Let us know if there are any problems."

"O' course." Hagrid looked as though Christmas had come early.

The man departed without another word, and Harry waited for him to leave before turning to Hagrid.

"Who's that?"

"Jus' someone from the Ministry," Hagrid said cheerfully. "From the Dragon Research an' Restraint Bureau. They found the dragon that attacked the train, but they don' want ter get rid of it, seeing as it's so rare. One o' a kind, in fact."

"Hagrid," Harry said with trepidation, "are you—are they letting you keep a _dragon_?"

Hagrid motioned for Harry to follow him, and they circled around the hut.

Harry was no stranger to dragons. Hagrid had illegally hatched a Norwegian Ridgeback in his first year, and Harry had a rather frightful encounter with a fully-grown Hungarian Horntail in his fourth year. But this dragon was—no other word for it—bizarre. Harry didn't know much about dragons, since they were usually taught to later classes, so he had no idea what breed it was, but he supposed he was about to find out.

"It looks jus' like a Hebridean Black," Hagrid said, as the enormous beast snorted in their direction. It was about twenty feet in length, which meant that, despite being about half the size of a normal Hebridean, it was not by any means small. But compared to other breeds, this one was positively tiny. "But it's fully grown, an' it's not goin' ter get any bigger'n this. Beauty, isn't he?"

Harry stared at the miniature Hebridean Black. It was curled up on the grass, fitted with a harness around its neck and a length of chain that snaked through the grass until it reached a deeply-buried stake several yards away.

"Can it—it can't breathe fire, can it?" Harry asked hopefully, as smoke trailed from the beast's nostrils. It stretched its wings, and then curled its tail around its shiny black hide and laid its head on the ground, eyeing them.

"O' course he can," Hagrid said, looking absolutely delighted.

Harry tried to gauge how far away the dragon was from Hagrid's hut, and how much slack the chain still had, and found he didn't like the answer. He also had no idea what its flame range was, but he was certain that even if the chain still had no slack, it was close enough to set Hagrid's house on fire directly.

"Hagrid," Harry began, trying to keep the grimace out of his voice. "You live in a wooden house."

"Dumbledore already took care o' it," Hagrid said, still eyeing the dragon with the same longing, motherly look Harry had seen him give Norbert. "Fireproofed it an' then some."

"So how long are you keeping it for?" Harry asked, reluctantly following Hagrid as they stepped closer.

"I don' know," Hagrid said, and for the first time, he sounded worried. The dragon lifted its head and spread its wings at his approach, but didn't open its mouth to threaten flame. "They migh' let me keep him, but they're still tryin' ter figure out where he fits into all o' this fer now."

The dragon was being awfully tame around them, for a creature Harry had never seen take well to human presence, and Harry was starting to get an inkling suspicion that it had not simply attacked the train at random.

"Hagrid, you said it was one of a kind?" he asked, as Hagrid laid an enormous hand on the dragon's back. The beast snorted again, and nipped at his arm, but didn't do anything more aggressive than that. "Does that mean someone bred it, or…?"

"Yeh won' find any dragons this small in the wild, unless they're young," Hagrid informed him, as he scratched the dragon at the base of its wings. It made a sound that rather resembled a guttural purr, and closed its eyes. "Someone must've bin breeding 'em without a license, an' Dumbledore thinks someone sent it ter attack the Hogwarts Express." He gave the dragon a final pat, and then pulled his hand away. "Big enough ter knock over the train, maybe, but not too big fer one or two wizards ter handle on their own."

"So," Harry ventured, "he's very used to people?"

"Oh, yeah. Yeh've seen how dragons normally get around people, they don' like 'em very much," Hagrid said, reaching into his moleskin coat and pulling out a dead squirrel. He tossed it to the dragon, and it snapped it out of the air, swallowing the treat whole. "This one's a bit shy an' skittish, migh' not like too many people around, but he's used ter 'em alrigh'—it doesn' hurt that he's male, they're less aggressive than the females."

Harry remembered the raging Horntail trying to protect her clutch of eggs, and privately found himself agreeing.

"Charlie's goin' ter be yer class project," Hagrid said happily. "We'll be lookin' at other creatures o' course, but yer going ter take care o' a live dragon—a real treat, I reckon."

"Charlie?" Harry asked.

"Ah, yeah, he's the one who wrote ter the Ministry tellin' them that I'm qualified ter handle dragons," Hagrid said happily. "Thought I'd name Charlie here in his honor, seein' as he's the reason I get ter keep him."

Harry looked over at Charlie, who let out a snort at him, and wondered whether he ought to thank Charlie Weasley for making Hagrid so happy, or write him a very stern letter about not helping Hagrid acquire anymore dragons.

* * *

**Please review!**

**-Anubis**


	13. Chapter 14

**A/N: Bonus chapter, because this one's so short.**

**Happy holidays!**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

**Please review! ;)**

* * *

By Friday, everyone knew about the dragon. Most of the students had stopped by to visit it at one point or another, though they kept their distance. The Heads of House, while certainly glad that Hagrid was enjoying himself, were understandably concerned about the prospect of having a dragon—no matter how small—on the grounds, but the Headmaster's word on the matter was final: Charlie was allowed to stay.

Hermione herself approached the dragon, genuinely curious to see the beast up close and at her leisure. It seemed to recognize her, and a dangerous trail of smoke spewed from its nostrils, but it didn't attempt to breathe fire. It did however seem to be very fond of Hagrid. Hermione bore no grudge against Charlie, and was just pleased that all things considered, the situation had resolved itself rather well.

Hermione was quite happy about the fact that she no longer had to hide herself in the hall, but just as Sirius had felt odd going about in public again, she felt similarly exposed. She enjoyed teaching, and she was an easily likable teacher, even if some of the students thought she was strange and over-exacting. But naturally, it wasn't all sunshine and roses and tamed dragons: Hermione spent evenings between grading essays to pore over her notebook, trying to find a clue that would help her decipher the Dark Lord's actions and explain his motivations.

Severus placed his hands on her shoulders one evening, when she had stayed up well past midnight, urging her to go to bed. He was being summoned less often, because Hogwarts was still closely watched, but Hermione was keeping the letters and missives he received from the Dark Lord and hiding them away in case they yielded clues. Hermione found herself privately glad for this, because even though it severely restricted Severus's ability to collect information, it meant he was safe—as safe as a servant of the Dark Lord could be, at any rate.

The second Saturday since the beginning of term was the glorious opportunity to sleep in that Hermione had been looking forward to all week, and yet, despite being curled up in Severus's arms, her mind simply wouldn't quit. Her head churned with the next lessons on Monday, concern for Severus's position with the Dark Lord, broken clues as to what Voldemort was actually up to, and the Quidditch try-outs Harry had finally scheduled for the following Saturday.

"What was on that train?" she murmured out loud, more to herself than to Severus, but it caused her husband to lift his head to look at her.

"Do you ever stop thinking?" he asked, resting his cheek against her breasts.

"No," Hermione answered absently, running a hand through Severus's hair. "I'm just trying to picture why the Dark Lord would go through the trouble of acquiring a dragon to attack the Hogwarts Express. If there was something he wanted on the train, wouldn't he have sent his Death Eaters to collect it?"

"That would make sense," Severus agreed, closing his eyes and leaning into Hermione's touch. "Perhaps he meant to crash the train? It would be a rather undignified way to kill Potter, but he doesn't particularly care about who gets in the way of his machinations, and he's never been above underhanded methods. The reason he hasn't done something like this before is because he's always wanted to kill Potter in such a way as to prove his superiority."

"Yes, this isn't like him," Hermione said, tousling Severus's black locks. "It either means he's decided it doesn't matter how Harry dies, or there was something else on that train he wanted. I've considered the possibility that he only meant for the dragon to stop the train, and that by knocking it off the tracks, the passengers would be too stunned to provide much resistance against Death Eaters that would arrive after the initial attack. After all, Harry's managed to go toe-to-toe with them before, and he's not the only one. It's a likely possibility, though we may never know, as Charlie never did quite get around to stopping the train."

"It's a distinct possibility," Severus allowed.

"Which leads us back to my first question," Hermione said. "What was on the train?"

~o~O~o~

Harry and Ron stopped by her office later that day, and Hermione invited them to help themselves to tea and biscuits while she graded essays. They happily helped themselves, and made themselves at home in the two available, cozy armchairs. Hermione had done a number on the office since recovering it back from Umbridge, and any of the plates, kittens, and pink frippery that remained had been most thoroughly disposed of.

"Who keeps giving you those?" Harry asked, gesturing at the fresh rose on her desk. She seemed to move it from her classroom to her office, depending on where she was working.

"Oh," Hermione said, looking up. Her cheeks flushed faintly pink as she replied, "Severus does."

"Romantic," Ron said, glancing at Harry, as though unsure of what to make of this.

"Oh, no. He steals them from Professor Sprout's greenhouses," Hermione said, bending back down over the third-year essay she was working on. "He knows it drives her up the wall."

Ron snorted, but tried to disguise it as a hacking cough.

Harry's eyes landed on Gaunt's ring, and he frowned. "Where did you get that?" Hermione glanced up at him again, and he added, "Dumbledore showed me some memories last week, for my first lesson. That's the same ring that used to belong to Marvolo Gaunt, isn't it?"

"All in good time, Harry," Hermione said, going back to marking up the essay. She knew what memories Harry was referring to—Dumbledore had shown her the very same. "You're right, of course. It did belong to Marvolo Gaunt."

Ron's eyes widened. "So why do you have it?"

"Dumbledore wanted me to keep it," Hermione said, without looking up. She knew what the ring was purported to do, but truth to be told, Dumbledore's behavior in the shack had frightened her. While she had no qualms about wearing the ring, the idea of testing out the stone's properties no longer appealed to her. And she knew Dumbledore still didn't trust himself not to try.

"So it's yours?" Harry asked curiously.

"For now."

The conversation switched to the subject of Charlie, Harry's Care of Magical Creatures lessons, and the attack on the Hogwarts Express. Harry, it turned out, was starting to enjoy the class—as the only student, it meant he and Hagrid often got to spend time together and tailor the lessons to interesting subjects that would normally get passed over.

"We feed Charlie first, and then we usually go into the Forbidden Forest," Harry recounted. He had finally warmed up to the idea of having a dragon as part of his class, if only slightly. "Yesterday, Hagrid brought one of the Aurors over—"

"I didn't know Aurors counted as sixth-year magical creatures," Hermione deadpanned without looking up, but she was smiling.

"No, but he had a Kneazle with him," Harry grinned. "It turns out Scrimgeour sent a couple people from the department that regulates magical creatures over to law enforcement, and gave the Aurors two months to figure out how to work with them."

Hermione covered her mouth with her hand. "You're kidding."

"No, but it worked, didn't it?" Harry said.

"How big are those things?" Ron asked, picking up a biscuit. "We've only got two of them at Hogwarts, and I haven't seen them yet."

"They're quite like small lions," Hermione remarked, before Harry could respond. "And the reason you don't see them is because they patrol the corridors while you're in class, and take the grounds in the early morning and late evenings." She re-inked her quill, and scribbled her final remarks on the third-year essay before picking up a new one from the pile. "They're trying to avoid the students, they want to be as undisruptive as possible. The rest of them are stationed in Hogsmeade, I believe."

"Speaking of kneazles," Ron said, suddenly sitting up straight. "I just remembered, we saw Crookshanks—"

Harry quickly stamped down on Ron's foot, but it was too late. Hermione's head snapped up.

"So?" she asked lightly, but Harry could sense the danger behind her words.

There was a moment of silence, and Ron turned to look at Harry, as though begging him for rescue. Harry just shook his head.

Hermione set down her quill.

"What do you _think_ you saw?" she asked, chewing on the pad of her thumb. Neither of them answered, and she added impatiently, "Spit it out, please. I promise I won't hex."

"I… there's a first-year with him," Ron said, looking at Harry for guidance. "He, uh, his name's Selenius, isn't it?"

Hermione felt as though someone had slugged her across the face. Several different scenarios in which the Dark Lord discovered Selenius's existence flitted through her mind, but she managed to shove them aside to ask the most important question: "How?"

"How… what?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"How did you know?" Hermione said, leaning forward. "What made you realize it?"

Harry took a moment to think this over carefully.

"Well, he says his name's Black, and he has Crookshanks with him," Harry said slowly. "But I've never seen him. He's obviously associated with the Order in some way, but the pieces involved didn't fit. I don't think anyone else would notice, though—no one else _would_ know that."

"He hasn't said or done anything unusual," Ron said with a shrug, but it was clear to Hermione that he was trying to placate her. "He doesn't stand out more than anyone else, unless you count the fact he's willing to fight for the armchair."

Harry let relief overtake him when Hermione's lips quirked ever so slightly upward at this. The armchair was the coveted, comfortable position in the Gryffindor common room that the upperclassmen usually staked a claim on, and which first-years were often kicked off.

"So… he's your kid," Harry said at last. "His name's really Selenius Snape, isn't it?"

"Are you continuing to practice Occlumency?" Hermione asked quietly. "Every night?"

"I do the exercises," Harry said truthfully, "but I don't really feel the link anymore. Dumbledore thinks Voldemort's trying to Occlude me now, he didn't like what happened when he tried to possess me."

"True," Hermione murmured, chewing on the tip of her quill.

"We won't tell anyone," Harry said, exchanging looks with Ron. "Right?"

"Not a word," the redhead promised.

Hermione looked down at her desk.

"I've tried to give him space while he's here, because even though I have him in my classes, I can't hover around him," she said quietly. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I have to let him grow up on his own. But I gave him Crookshanks." She got a faraway look in her eye for a moment, before her gaze snapped back to the two of them. "Will you look after him for me? Keep him out of trouble, just—keep an eye out, in case it looks like someone's getting suspicious?"

Ron snorted. "That's what mum said when Ginny first came here, and look at her now."

Hermione allowed herself a small smile. "Yes, as if Ginny needs anyone to look after her with a Bat-Boogey Hex in her arsenal."

~o~O~o~

Hermione, like the rest of the school, came out to watch the Quidditch trials next Saturday. When she found a seat in the stands and surveyed the pitch, she found herself wondering if almost all of Gryffindor house had decided to try out. Selenius was among the first-years, and she saw him holding the sleek handle of his broomstick, though she was absolutely clueless when it came to discerning one model from the next. Harry seemed to be at a loss for a moment, and then he finally seemed to get his act together, and sorted the applicants into groups and sent them to do laps around the pitch.

This appeared to be a good decision. Selenius was in the group of first-years, and Hermione winced when she realized that the rest of the competition had clearly never flown a broomstick before, as evidenced by multiple crashes. But her son was clearly a practiced flyer, and when Harry called him down, it was to stand over by the other hopefuls.

Halfway through the seventh group's trial, which seemed to be going much better than the previous six put together, Severus came to sit next to her, not saying a word.

"You missed the show," Hermione commented, glancing over at the group of giggling Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who had been ordered off the field a half hour earlier.

Severus snorted, but said nothing.

The next two hours were painfully entertaining to watch, but Harry finally cut the competition down to the most serious players, and then divided them into groups based on the position they were trying for. Selenius went to stand with the Chasers, quietly waiting with about twenty other applicants, all of whom towered over him. He was easily the shortest member of the group.

Harry, tired and having already screamed himself hoarse from earlier fiascos, seemed to be at a loss as to how to proceed. And then he rallied, and told the prospective Chasers to split into four groups of five. He picked the first group, and threw them a Quaffle, and told them to practice passing it around. Many of them fumbled. Some dropped repeatedly, and others had a weak throw. Harry weeded them down to ten in this way, and it seemed he finally considered this to be a manageable number, because he sent Ron to play as Keeper while the Chasers tried to get past him.

Hermione glanced at Severus, trying to discern what he was thinking, but his face was as stony as ever. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to watch this or not—Quidditch was important to Selenius, she knew that well enough, but she felt as though he might be outclassed by the older, more experienced students. No one liked to feel helplessly overshadowed. She watched as Harry went through several of the Chasers, occasionally getting into a shouting match with the ones who did particularly poorly but wanted another go. Then Selenius was up, and Hermione saw Harry pause, and then hold out his broomstick. Hermione didn't understand what he was doing for a moment, until she saw Selenius hold his out, and realized that both brooms were perfectly identical. Both boys were grinning.

She shot up in her seat, immediately plotting just what she was going to do to Sirius the next time she saw him; beside her, Severus was quietly snickering at her predicament. The next moment, Selenius mounted his Firebolt, and took to the air with the Quaffle under his arm. Harry flew into the air in front of Ron, and as with the other students, tried to steal the Quaffle from Selenius while the first-year attempted to get past him and then score on Ron.

"I am going to kill Sirius," Hermione said quietly.

Severus had his arms crossed over his chest and was bent slightly, chin tucked over his chest, quietly doubled over with silent laughter. It was fortunate that no one was paying attention to them; otherwise, it would have been difficult to explain why the Potions Master was helplessly sniggering over the fact that Harry Potter and Selenius Black both had a Firebolt.

"You knew about this, didn't you?" Hermione hissed in his ear.

"Of course I did," Severus said, recomposing himself, but still smirking. "Who do you think he asked first about getting a new broomstick—you or me?"

Hermione buried her face in her hands.

Several minutes later, Severus was tapping her shoulder, indicating she should look up. Selenius was standing next to Ginny Weasley and Katie Bell, and Harry had moved onto the next group. One of the prospective Chasers was storming off the field with a broken Comet Two-sixty, and Harry was looking rather as though he wished these trials would just get themselves over with one their own. Hermione blinked, not quite comprehending for a moment, and then she uttered, "He made it?"

"Apparently so. Potter now seems to be enduring a similar charade with the Beaters."

Hermione saw Selenius standing quietly, broomstick slung over his shoulder, but he was smiling as though he had just been handed the world.

* * *

**Please review!**

**-Anubis**


	14. Chapter 15

**A/N: One day until Christmas! **

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

**Please review! ;)**

* * *

Between Quidditch practice and the mountain of homework he was being assigned, Harry had thought very little about Hogsmeade weekends. But when a notice went up in the common room for a mid-October visit, he eagerly signed up, glad for a chance to get out of the castle. He had thought all future visits might be cancelled because of the overshadowing threat of Voldemort and increased security measures, and was relieved that it had not yet come to that.

He ate breakfast and then stopped by Professor Granger's office, hoping to catch her before he left. The door was closed, and for a moment, he thought she might be in a conference with another student—but then he heard Snape's voice, and against his better judgment, pressed his ear against the door.

"…never heard of such a thing, but I'm not surprised that it's possible," he heard Snape say, his voice low so that Harry had to strain to hear. "But if you're correct, that's dark magic beyond anything I've ever heard of, much less seen…"

"Dumbledore proved it the night I cracked open the stone," Hermione said quietly. "Something was in that ring was alive—not whole, but alive."

"And the Headmaster believes he's made how many of these… things?"

"Horcruxes." Something about the way Hermione said it made Harry shiver, as though it were a name just as evil, if not more so, than Voldemort. "And he made… or meant to make… six. There are seven."

"And he plans to make finding and destroying them Potter's job?" Snape sounded disbelieving.

"Not entirely. We've already taken care of two. The diary, the ring—"

"And he's asked you to search for the rest of them?"

"He seems to have a very shrewd idea where one of them might be, but he's left the others up to me to find. The goal is to weaken him so that the next time Harry faces him, he'll be mortal."

"And with the Ministry relatively stabilized—"

"Thanks to me. Please do give me some credit for that."

"—noted. But for someone who's not very good at chess, you're quietly knocking out all of the Dark Lord's major players and cornering his pawns with your own."

"I do have my moments."

There was a low murmur, and then Harry quickly pulled back just in time to retreat so that when Snape threw open the door, it looked as though Harry had just arrived. Snape sneered down at him.

"What do you want, Potter?" His gaze was searching, and Harry knew he was wondering how much he had heard, if he had been listening. Snape wasn't an idiot, however often Harry sometimes wished he was.

"To see Hermione," Harry said, raising his chin. "Before I go down to Hogsmeade."

"Don't worry about it." He saw Hermione get up from her desk, shuffling her papers together into a neat stack. "I'm on duty today, so I'll be going down to the village with the rest of you."

"Oh," Harry said blandly, surprised by this revelation. "Well—then—I'll meet you in the Entrance Hall, I suppose."

He left quickly before Snape could change his mind about letting him go without a point deduction. Why Hermione had ever married the man, Harry would never know.

Half an hour later, Professor Granger had joined Filch and the students who had signed up for the visit in the Entrance Hall. Filch was jabbing them all with a Secrecy Sensor as they passed, and out in the courtyard, one of the Aurors—Proudfoot, Harry recalled—was standing by the fountain with a large spotted Kneazle sitting by his side, her lion-like tuft of a tail twitching impatiently.

"Hello, Mipsy," Harry said, reaching over to scratch the kneazle behind her ear, as they waited for Filch to finish with the other students. The large cat purred and leaned into him. Ron cautiously approached, eyes wide as dinner plates as he took in the enormous size, and then cautiously held out his hand. Mipsy ignored him, and he took that as a good sign, and patted her tawny head.

"Alright, you lot, let's get going!" Professor Granger called, waving everyone over.

She double-checked her list once more, and then they all headed off for Hogsmeade, with Proudfoot and Mipsy in the lead. They reached Hogsmeade without incident, though it was bitterly windy and cold, and Harry and Ron dropped back a bit so that they could fall into step with Professor Granger. To their dismay, the saw that Zonko's had been boarded up.

"So what's new with the Order?" Harry asked quietly, as they walked down the lane toward Honeydukes. He glanced back at the closed joke shop with longing. "Sirius has been writing to me about what he's doing, but he hasn't been able to put much in letters."

Hermione pressed her lips together in a thin line for a moment, and then said, "The Order's spread thin—everyone's doing something different. Kingsley's keeping us appraised on the hunt for Death Eaters, Tonks is posted at the school, Arthur's keeping an eye on several departments within the Ministry, Mundungus is sniffing around to see if Death Eaters are trying to buy stuff on the black market…"

"Sounds like a lot of waiting instead of fighting," Ron muttered.

"Some things are more important than rushing into battle," Hermione murmured. "We've got other things to focus on. The Ministry can take care of keeping the Death Eaters at bay."

Harry suspected he knew what their focus was on. Whatever it was that Hermione had been talking to Snape about earlier—Horcruxes. He made a mental note to look them up later, or ask Dumbledore for an explanation.

"But you're not just sitting around twiddling your thumbs," Harry said in an undertone.

Hermione looked at him askance. "No, I'm not," she agreed.

Harry and Ron waited eagerly.

Hermione threw her hands into the air. "I can't tell you, obviously," she said in exasperation, her voice as close to snapping as she could get without crossing the line.

"Right," Harry said, looking away. "Well, I thought you might at least tell us what's going on, because as usual, everyone else is keeping us in the dark."

Hermione folded her arms. "Dumbledore's giving you private lessons," she said quietly. "You should be focusing on that, and not the Order. Everyone's got to do their job without worrying about what someone else is doing."

Harry suddenly felt very guilty, but he pushed it away.

"At any rate," Hermione said, stuffing her hands in her pockets, "I've got to patrol, and I very much doubt you two want to spend you entire visit wandering around the village with me."

Sensing they were dismissed, the two boys left, splitting off from Hermione and striding down the street toward Honeydukes. The shop was warm and there was the lingering scent of melted toffee and warm chocolate in the air, mixed with honey. Harry looked back over his shoulder at Hermione through the window. She was standing in the middle of the street, miles away in thought, her cloak whipping against her legs in the wind. Harry thought she looked a little uncharacteristically lost, as though she found herself somewhere unexpected, and didn't quite know how she had gotten there.

Sometimes, Harry wondered if even she knew who she was anymore.

Harry and Ron browsed through Honeydukes, delaying for as long as possible to avoid going back out into the blustery, October cold. An hour later, after they had sat in a corner munching on more sweets than they should have, they decided to stop by the Three Broomsticks for a drink before heading back to school; the trip was turning out to be less fun than anticipated, due to the closed shops and miserable weather, and they were both looking forward to getting back to their warm, fire-lit common room.

Hermione was there when they arrived to order Firewhiskey, sitting at the counter and talking to the barmaid. Harry wasn't sure if this was what Hermione counted as 'patrolling', but then he saw her drain her butterbeer almost as soon as it had been slid across the counter to her and head for the door, without having ever seen the two of them enter.

"Reckon we should head back?" Ron asked, eyeing Rosmerta from behind his empty glass.

"I think we're about done," Harry agreed, thinking that if this was how Hogsmeade visits were going to be from now on, they might as well not bother at all. He took one last sip, and then stood up. "Let's go."

They stepped outside, only to find that it had gotten colder and wetter in the time they had gotten drinks; sleet had started to come down, and the wind was causing them to chatter with chill. They walked up the street, heading back to the lane leading up to Hogwarts, when Harry saw two of his classmates fighting up ahead. He squinted, as he recognized Katie Bell; their wands weren't drawn, but Katie had shoved her friend into the snow, and was yelling something.

Harry heard someone behind them let out a squeal of surprise, and wheeled around in time to see Katie's friend… standing behind them. Her eyes were wide with surprise, and she was staring at Katie as though she didn't understand what was going on. Harry's mind instantly grasped the problem, but he wasn't sure who was who—which one was the Polyjuiced friend?

Katie was running back in their direction, and the girl in the snow had leapt up, wand raised and pointed at the fleeing Gryffindor.

Harry and Ron both had their wands out, ready to help their housemate, but before they could cast anything, Ron was nearly knocked aside as Hermione barreled past; scant seconds later, Proudfoot and his kneazle almost did the same to Harry, and there was a loud yowl as Mipsy flung herself at the polyjuiced impostor.

"Leanne!" Katie panted, skidding to a stop behind them and throwing her arms around her startled friend. She looked terrified. "I thought she was _you._"

Leanne rubbed her eyes. "I don't know what happened. I remembered going to the bathroom before we left, but then I forgot what I was supposed to do—d-do you suppose I was Confunded?"

"You're okay, aren't you?" Katie asked, but Harry held out a hand.

"Katie, ask her something only Leanne would know," he said. "It might not be her."

"What—" Leanne let out a gulp, looking close to tears, but Katie gently shushed her.

"Leanne, what did I give you for Christmas last year?"

Leanne held up her hands, which were covered in soft, wooly, star-spangled mittens. "Th-these."

Katie hugged her tightly. "It's her," she said, looking immensely relieved.

Ron tapped Harry's shoulder, and he looked around in time to see Hermione and Proudfoot on their feet, dueling the impostor. Hermione's face was contorted into a terrible snarl, and Harry very nearly didn't recognize her. Whoever they were dueling wasn't an amateur, but still wasn't holding up very well under the combined onslaught. An experienced Auror, a trained Kneazle, and an enraged Hermione made a very dangerous team.

Another Auror, one of the ones permanently stationed in Hogsmeade, rounded the boarded-up building where Zonko's had once stood; he appeared with a large, speckled Kneazle at his side. The impostor saw the reinforcements arrive, and tried to get away, but Hermione—whose last spell had been deflected—simply rammed shoulder-first into her, causing the Polyjuiced Leanne to double-over, gasping in pain. It was all the opening Proudfoot and Savage, the newly-arrived Auror, needed; a moment later, they had the impostor's wand taken away, and Proudfoot was roughly hauling him—or her—to their feet.

"We'll bring her up to the castle," Proudfoot said. "Wait for the Polyjuice to wear off, make and identification and an arrest." He nodded at Hermione. "Savage, you stay here. Professor Granger can help me."

"Katie obviously realized this wasn't Leanne," Hermione said, glancing over her shoulder at the two girls. "We need them to come back up so they can give statements."

Katie nodded. Leanne looked close to tears, but managed to do the same.

The impostor spat bitterly at their feet, glowering at them all hatefully. Harry and Ron jogged to catch up. Proudfoot and Hermione had their prey between them, and were keeping a firm hold on her as they walked up the road back to the castle. Leanne was babbling about what had happened.

"W-we went to the Three Broomsticks for a drink, and then we decided to head back, but I went to the bathroom first—I don't know how much time passed, b-but I forgot where I was and what I was supposed to be doing, and ran outside—and then I saw Katie w-walking back with me, but it wasn't _me_ and I didn't know what was going on—a-and then Katie p-pushed—"

"I knew it wasn't you," Katie said, one arm held tightly around her friend. "She was acting oddly, and when I mentioned that, she got really aggressive—that's when I got afraid."

"It could have been worse," Hermione said tightly, as they ascended the stone steps. "Ron, please go find Professor McGonagall, and tell her to meet us in my office."

Ron gave Harry a meaningful look, and then ran off toward the Transfiguration department. They marched to Hermione's office, hustled inside, and then shut the door. Proudfoot forced the struggling, Polyjuiced prisoner into Hermione's chair, and then bound her.

"How long do you think it'll take to wear off?" He asked, straightening.

"From the sound of it, she probably got Leanne's hair after she Confunded her," Hermione said. She nodded at the impostor's clothes. "I'm betting she Transfigured those too, to look like Leanne's. I'll give it another fifteen minutes."

"Mudblood," the Polyjuiced Leanne spat.

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

The impostor sneered; it looked very wrong on Leanne's face. Moments later, the door opened, and McGonagall strode inside, with Ron following close behind.

"Mr. Weasley told me what happened," she said, looking alarmed. "Who is it?"

"We don't know yet," Hermione said. Mipsy's ears were flattened against her skull, and if it weren't for the fact that her handler had ordered her to stand down, Harry rather suspected she might have started clawing at the impostor's face. "We're still waiting for the Polyjuice to wear off."

Proudfoot looked at McGonagall. "Does the Potions Master here have any Veritaserum?"

"Yes, but if this is who I think it is, I'm not sure it'll be all that effective," Hermione interrupted, kneeling on the ground, wand out. She gripped the impostor's chin, forcing her to look into her eyes. "Veritaserum can be resisted—it's not infallible. That's why you still have to be careful of new hires at the Ministry, because someone disciplined enough can always slip through."

This was, apparently, a revelation to Proudfoot that he did not like, and Harry suspected he would be bringing this up to the Minister in short order. Hermione tilted her head slightly to the side, as though she found something utterly fascinating about the person bound in front of her; the Polyjuiced Leanne's hands were clenched by her side, teeth gritted as she fought to keep Hermione out.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," Hermione said softly, curiously, in a manner that was rather uncannily like her husband. "Quite skilled at Occlumency, but not enough, I'm afraid."

"What was she here for?" Proudfoot demanded. "What did she want?"

"She was… planning on sneaking into the castle, to pass off as a student…" Hermione tilted her head to the other side. "Oh, _very_ interesting…"

"Well?" McGonagall asked, her face drawn into a thin-lipped grimace.

"She came here to collect something, though I don't know what," Hermione said, frowning as she continued to probe into the resistant Lestrange's mind. "No, no—don't shove me aside," Hermione murmured, more to herself than to anyone in the room who might be listening. The impostor's hair was starting to grow wild, dark, and curly, and she was starting to get a bit too big for her bonds, but no one bothered to adjust them for her comfort. Bellatrix's snarling visage finally replaced Leanne's, and she looked enraged at being brought this low by someone she considered inferior. "Ah… there's something else, I see…"

"Professor Granger," McGonagall said tightly.

Hermione let out a sigh and then pulled away, rising to her feet. "If I had the time, I could break her mind, but Proudfoot needs to take her to the Ministry," she said, pointing her wand at Bellatrix. "This'll have to do, I suppose."

"What are you doing?" The Auror demanded suddenly.

"I can't let her go to Azkaban knowing I helped catch her."

Proudfoot's eyes narrowed, but Harry suspected his respect for her was the only thing stopping him from ordering her off. Hermione flicked her wand, and Bellatrix's head snapped back and her eyes rolled in unbefitting confusion. Hermione turned to leave.

"Leanne, Katie, we ought to get you to the Hospital Wing," she said, though not unkindly.

The girls left, leaving Harry and Ron with a thin-lipped McGonagall, a sternly disturbed Proudfoot, and a sour-faced kneazle in the tiny office with one of Voldemort's most wanted followers.

"I don't get it," Harry said, as Bellatrix's head lolled forward. "First they attack the Hogwarts Express, now Voldemort—" Proudfoot jumped at this "—sends one of his Death Eaters to impersonate Leanne. What are they after?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," McGonagall said, gazing down at the bound Death Eater in disgust. "Unless you have a theory you'd like to share?"

Harry and Ron slowly shook their heads.

* * *

**Please review!**

**-Anubis**


	15. Chapter 16

**A/N: Merry Christmas!**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own. **

**Please review! ;) Second bonus chapter will be posted later in the day. Please don't forget to spend time with your loved ones. That's what the holiday's _really_ about!**

* * *

Hermione didn't even choke on her toast when, two weeks later, she opened the morning edition of the _Prophet_ at the Staff Table and saw the headlines. Bellatrix Lestrange had scarcely been in Azkaban for half a month, and she—and the other Death Eaters imprisoned with her—had been freed. She slammed her fork down on the table, quietly furious as she skimmed the article. This was turning into an absurd, macabre game. The Ministry just didn't seem to have the resources to keep a little less than a dozen highly dangerous individuals locked up if the Dark Lord didn't want them there.

She folded it back up and then snapped it on the table beside Severus's plate, as he had been surreptitiously attempting to read it over her shoulder. Along the Staff Table, the other teachers were discussing the breakout—_again_—in worried undertones. Hermione rested her elbows on the table and tucked her chin over her hands, thinking.

They weren't going to win this war by going after Voldemort's Death Eaters. Hermione already knew that. To put so much time and energy into doing so was a distraction and a wasted effort. It was why she was trying to locate his Horcruxes—or at the very least, one of them—but she was having next to no luck.

No, that wasn't true, Hermione admitted, after a moment's reconsideration. Bellatrix Lestrange had been after something in the castle, but in the dark recesses of her mind, there had been other things she was trying to hide—something important that the Dark Lord wanted, but had not asked of her yet, involving her bank vault. Hermione had already put the clues on that together—the Dark Lord was hiding something, somewhere, and wanted to move it to the safest place of all: Gringott's.

She was certain that it was a Horcrux, and if not Hufflepuff's Cup, then another. The question was—could she find it before Voldemort had it moved to the safety of the Lestrange Vault?

She stared down at her plate, deep in thought. She needed to get out of the castle for a bit and start searching. She had a list of places that might be worth looking, and though she wasn't crossing any of them out, she had a vague sense that Voldemort had not tossed Hufflepuff's cup into another shack or a deep, dark fissure somewhere. He had taken it from Hepzibah Smith, who had been a bit of a packrat—a collector of rare and valuable items—and, from what Dumbledore had shown her, Tom Riddle had very similar magpie-like tendencies of his own.

The ring had come from the shack, so to speak, and returned to the shack. Voldemort could not return the cup to the place he had stolen it from—Hermione was starting to suspect he picked places as carefully as he picked what items to turn his Horcruxes into, because in a sense, both of them were trophies to him—so she was looking at buildings that were both significant to him, and perhaps even grand buildings or places cluttered with other rarities.

Borgin and Burkes was her first guess, since it was where he had worked when he had taken the Cup and Slytherin's Locket from Hepzibah Smith. Hermione had been there more than once, and it certainly fit her criteria—it might not be fancy or prestigious like Gringotts, but it was packed with all sorts of odd, valuable, and often dangerous antiques. After that, the Orphanage had had grown up in was her next guess. If neither of them panned out—well, she'd just keep going down the list.

She got to her feet. She had class in less than ten minutes.

~o~O~o~

Hermione threw her hands into the air.

"I give up," she said, exasperated.

Selenius grinned. Behind him, one of the portraits Hermione had brought into her office was silently applauding. "Checkmate," he said gleefully.

"So," Hermione said, as they set their pieces back to rights for a rematch, "how's school? Hagrid says you've been going down to visit him and Charlie, Sirius says you're ecstatic about the upcoming Quidditch match—but I want to hear it from you."

"I like classes," Selenius said, as he sent his knight forward. "Most of them are interesting. I think someone needs to tell Binns that he's retired two centuries too late."

Hermione couldn't help the snort that escaped her. Selenius laughed.

"He's not retiring yet," she reminded him merrily.

"But Transfiguration is interesting, and Potions is fun, when Dad isn't making one of my classmates cry," Selenius continued. He waited until Hermione had made her move, and then added, "I _do_ like Defense Against the Dark Arts—although I think the sixth years have much more interesting material."

"And how would you know what the sixth years are learning?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I sit with Neville, sometimes," Selenius said. He took out one of Hermione's pawns with a bishop. "Most everyone does their homework in the common room."

"I remember." Hermione smiled ever so slightly. She wasn't sure if Selenius and Harry would ever quite be good friends—Harry was rather caught up in his own thing, and preferred his already tight-circle of people who were closer to his age. Neville was nice to anyone who was good to him, and once you actually sat down and talked with him, he was a good conversationalist. "What about clubs? Aside from Quidditch, of course."

"I tried the chess club. It didn't work out." Selenius frowned, and then his expression relaxed. "I play with Ron Weasley, though. And some of the older Slytherins, usually on Wednesdays."

Hermione, who had reached for her teacup and was about to take a sip, slowly lowered it from her lips. "Who?"

"Draco Malfoy, Tracy Davis, Theodore Nott," Selenius said, with a shrug. "They're not members of the chess club, but they sometimes play in the library."

"And they let you join?" Hermione asked casually, endeavoring to keep her voice perfectly neutral, as though she merely found this interesting and not alarming.

Selenius laughed. "Not at first, of course. But I was annoyingly persistent."

Hermione resisted the urge to cover her face with her hands. On one hand, she was pleased that Selenius hadn't become overwhelmed by the vicious rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor. On the other, she was worried about precisely which Slytherins he had come across.

"Blaise Zabini sometimes plays with them, but he'll never speak to me, he's too much of a snob," Selenius continued, proceeding to knock out Hermione's ill-placed castle. "I also got Terry Boot and Sue Li to join, they're both from Ravenclaw."

"So that's it? You're hand-picking your own chess club?" Hermione asked dryly, wondering if he planned to unite all of Hogwarts by shanghaiing them into playing chess with him.

"I suppose. I hadn't really thought of it that way," Selenius said honestly. "I guess I sort of just annoy them until they give in. I don't think any of them are used to someone hounding them for a chess match—the Slytherins probably think I'm a bit mad, but at least they're good players."

Hermione privately wondered how Severus was going to react to this when she told him, tonight.

~o~O~o~

"I'm surprised it took you so long to find out," Severus remarked that evening, when she brought it up. "Draco came to me a month and a half ago to complain about a nosy little Gryffindor who was willing to sit outside the Slytherin common room with a chessboard until they gave in."

"I'm surprised you didn't deduct points from Gryffindor for that," Hermione remarked dryly.

"I told Draco to take advantage of any opportunity, no matter what form it presents itself in," Severus said levelly, meeting her eyes. "I'd hoped he would take it the right way. Apparently, he did."

Hermione didn't say anything to this. They both knew there was nothing to say—Severus might be acerbic and capricious, and he despised his Death Eater cohorts as much as his wife, but there was no denying that he felt a certain level of responsibility for his Slytherins. The students who were specifically put under his care and guidance, who he looked after for seven years of their life, gave career advice and opportunities, and were under his protection. And if there was one thing to be said about Severus Snape, it was that he didn't shirk his duties. Nor did he let an important educational opportunity for his Slytherins slip through his fingers.

Severus was silent for several long moments, and then he uttered very quietly, "Draco told me that Selenius was almost Sorted into Slytherin, when he finally confronted him about what he was doing. I… don't know if he knew whether to be impressed or horrified."

Hermione could almost imagine it. Poor Draco Malfoy, realizing he was being helplessly manipulated by a Gryffindor who wanted him to be a part of his collection of chess opponents. Hermione considered this for a moment, and then she narrowed her eyes at Severus.

"I can't imagine Slytherins taking a Gryffindor's presence in their dungeons with good grace. Haven't any of them tried to hex him?"

"There have been a few incidents, but he never provokes a fight, and he apparently has a very good Defense teacher," Severus muttered.

"Who?" Hermione asked, curious. "I haven't been teaching the first years to duel."

"He's apparently been practicing with Longbottom," Severus sneered, and Hermione could see that it pained him to admit this. "The boy is criminally abysmal at Potions, but he seems to do well in your classes, and Selenius gleaned enough from him to make my Slytherins a bit wary about trying to pick on him. Rather like you were, back in school."

"Why didn't I know about this?" Hermione asked. "If he'd been hexed, wouldn't Minerva have been told?"

She saw Severus unconsciously lift a finger to his lips, tracing them the way he always did when he was deep in thought. It was the same way she twisted her wristwatch or Gaunt's ring, or chewed on a quill.

"Selenius seems to realize that refusing to tattle gains their trust," he said slowly. "He may be a Gryffindor, but he's cunning and perceptive—he can hold his own against some of them, at least discourage them from attacking by not making himself an easy target, and he doesn't go running off to one of the teachers to punish those who do manage to get him. I don't know if my son is mad or just stupidly persistent in his schemes, but it seems to have worked."

"And the Slytherins—they're willing to keep playing him?" Hermione inquired, curiosity getting the better of her.

"I think they're a bit sore about the fact that they haven't once beaten him."

Hermione might not be able to pinpoint exactly what part of his expression gave it away, but it was clear that he was smugly proud of this.

~o~O~o~

Hermione Disillusioned herself and snuck into the library after classes had ended on Wednesday, and after a short search, found Selenius surrounded by a group of Slytherins at one of the work tables toward the back of the library. Most of them were simply watching, their expressions largely bored or disdainful, even frustrated, but there were two of them that were watching intently—two that Hermione recognized as the ones Selenius said were willing to play him. Blaise Zabini was leaning against one of the bookcases, frowning as the Gryffindor trounced Tracy Davis's queen and claimed checkmate.

Terry Boot and the Ravenclaw girl Hermione recognized as Sue Li were sitting there, though they appeared extremely nervous, outnumbered in this Slytherin's den as they were. But they were also watching, no doubt hoping to figure out how to read Selenius's moves when it was their turn to play him. Another girl sat between the two Ravenclaws, and it took Hermione a moment to realize it was Susan Bones of Hufflepuff.

"I can't believe you lost to the blood traitor," Blaise said disgustedly, as Tracy finally conceded defeat. "Again."

"I'm not a blood traitor, I'm a half-blood," Selenius riposted easily, without missing a beat. "And if it's such a point of pride for you, Zabini, why don't you give it a go?"

Zabini didn't answer him, instead choosing to turn up his nose, as though Selenius wasn't worth his time. Tracy got up, and Draco slid into her seat, his face set, as though this were a Quidditch match and not a simple chess game.

Except that with Selenius, chess was never simple.

"I'll never understand why blood purity is such a big deal with you lot," he said, as they reset the game pieces, and started over. "If it's an issue of magical prowess—"

"Using bigger words won't make your argument any better," one of the watching Slytherins said, sneered.

"If 'prowess' is considered such a big word, you might want to revisit the dictionary for a vocabulary refresher," Selenius responded silkily. "As I was saying, if magical _ability,_" he said, stressing the last word, "is such a big issue, then why are you so upset when people show raw talent? I'd think you'd be glad to get the fresh blood, look at what the lack of it's done to Crabbe and Goyle. They're practically trolls."

Her son had never, in all of Hermione's life, spoken in such a way—at least, not within her earshot. Hermione was therefore unprepared to find that, when faced with his peers, her son was adopting an awful lot of Severus's habits. He was acting like a Slytherin, for all that he wore a Gryffindor tie, and Hermione could see that not only was it making his opponents uneasy, he _knew_ it was making them do a double-take.

Some of the Slytherins shifted uncomfortably, and Hermione could easily see that though Malfoy treated the two boys like bodyguards, they were not well-liked or even respected in Slytherin house, no matter how pure their blood was. Selenius had hit a sore spot.

And his response to this was to merely shrug.

"I mean, I'm not saying you should go for Muggles or anything, but look at Harry Potter. Pureblood father, Muggle-born mother—"

Draco, instead of ordering his rook to move, picked the piece up and bodily slammed him down over one of Selenius's pawns.

Selenius carelessly knocked the piece off the board with a bishop. Draco looked incensed.

"—and given that he's practically playing chicken on the railroad tracks, the number of times he's run into the Dark Lord—"

It was just a tiny twitch, barely a tick, but Hermione saw something unhinge in Draco's jaw, as if something Selenius just said had surprised him. Only Death Eaters, or the children of Death Eaters, tended to pick up Voldemort's title rather than call him You-Know-Who. Hermione twitched at the slip-up.

"—that probably means he's got a fair bit of magical skill," Selenius finished.

"He's an arrogant, self-righteous little prick," muttered Harper, the reserve Slytherin seeker. He was leaning against the shelf beside Zabini, arms folded and looking cross.

"Yes, but that's not the question," Selenius replied patiently, ignoring the fact that the two Ravenclaws and single Hufflepuff sitting next to him looked like they wanted to clamp a hand over his mouth. They couldn't seem to decide whether Selenius was being brave, or just very stupid. "The question is whether having a Muggle-born for a mother is worse than being an inbred Pureblood, and when you conclusively compare Harry to Goyle, it's pretty clear who comes out on top."

"But you _do_ admit that he's an arrogant—"

"Shut up!" Draco snapped suddenly. Everyone turned to look at him, surprised. "I'm trying to think, and I can't concentrate! Stop your bloody yammering! Just stop it!"

They all fell silent. Hermione saw Draco breathe in deeply several times, composing himself, and then he made his next carefully thought-out move.

And then he asked, very quietly, "Do you make a habit of getting into these sorts of arguments at home?"

"Yes, with my father's mother's screaming portrait."

Draco snorted, and Hermione wasn't certain the sarcasm was lost on him. "No wonder you're barmy."

But Hermione could tell—and given how perceptive Selenius was, he knew he would notice too—that Draco's words had no bite behind them, for all they gave the impression of being dismissive.

~o~O~o~

Hermione walked into Borgin and Burkes, wearing a black winter cloak, her face obscured by the hood she wore low over her eyes. Borgin looked up from a box of odd, old-looking coins and put on his best business face. Hermione didn't say a word to him, but merely wandered around the shop, poking here and there, looking at odd things for sale and hoping to find some kind of niche in the shop that someone might have stuffed a golden cup—a place that would make it seem unremarkable, compared to all else that was for sale.

"Can I help you?" Borgin finally asked roughly, after she had spent a quarter of an hour silently perusing his wares.

She merely shook her head and kept looking. The less said, the better. Borgin ran the kind of shop where being a nervous chatterbox made you suspicious—the silent, cloaked types who didn't want to state or discuss their business were his usual customers.

At last, after she had covered the entire shop, Hermione spoke.

"Years ago, you sold Salazar Slytherin's locket to a Hepzibah Smith," Hermione said quietly. Borgin, as far as she knew, had never laid eyes on or done business with Hufflepuff's Cup, but Hermione was fishing for a lead. "What happened to it, after she passed away?"

Borgin scratched his chin, looking thoughtful. "Yes, Burke did sell it to her. We were hoping to buy it back, after the family went through her things, but they never offered."

"There was a young man who worked here around the time she died," Hermione said, her voice low. "What happened to him?"

"He quit," Borgin said flatly.

"Did he ever come back? Perhaps to buy or sell anything?"

She saw Borgin's eyes narrow suspiciously. "No, he never came back. Just quit without warning and left. I haven't seen him, since."

Hermione pondered over this. He could, of course, have sent someone to place the Cup here for him—he had, after all, given Lucius Malfoy his diary. But Hermione suspected he had not, particularly since—now that she thought about it—it would be particularly difficult for him to return to Borgin and Burke's to retrieve it anyway.

"Do you have any other articles here that belonged to the Founders?" Hermione inquired, turning to gaze directly at the man from underneath her hood.

Now Borgin looked interested again, and he seemed to be musing to himself as he went through a mental checklist. "I'm afraid not," he said at last, reluctantly. "Ravenclaw's diadem has been lost for centuries and is her only known relic. Hufflepuff's Cup belonged to Hepzibah Smith, and as far as I know, her family still has it," He sneered, "along with Slytherin's locket. And the only known relic of Gryffindor is his sword, which is kept at Hogwarts."

Hermione's ears perked. _Ravenclaw's diadem?_ She and Dumbledore had both been at a loss as to what the Ravenclaw Horcrux might be, but it seemed that Borgin had finally given her a name to look into.

"Tell me about Ravenclaw's diadem," she said.

Borgin leaned forward, resting his arms on the counter. "I'm not here to give you history lessons, girl. Either buy something, or get out."

Hermione contemplated him for a minute, trying to decide whether he was worth interrogating, but then decided against it. The Cup clearly wasn't here, and she had her next clue, and another place to search. She didn't want to waste the rest of her afternoon attempting to weasel information out of Borgin.

She departed, stepping out into the dark gloom of Knockturn Alley, and then Disapparated with a muted _crack._ She reappeared in the bustling, busy, overly-crowded street in London—and where the orphanage should have stood, was an office block. Hermione stared at it uncomprehendingly for a moment, not understanding why the orphanage was gone, and then she let out a string of violent swearwords that caused the nearby Muggles passing her to give her odd, worried looks.

Hermione was rather sick of Apparating all over the country now—she had to walk to Hogsmeade and then Apparate just outside of Diagon Alley to get to Borgin and Burkes in the first place—but her two primary locations had turned up nothing. She was starting to get frustrated. _Where could it be?_ It wasn't in Gringotts, not yet. Lestrange was unable to access her vault while she was on the run. The seaside cave where young Tom Riddle had terrorized two young Muggle children was a distinct possibility, but Hermione had not located it yet. The Dark Lord had spent a few good years hiding in the wilderness of Albania, but Hermione rather doubted he had hidden the cup there.

Hogwarts, perhaps? He could have hidden it at Hogwarts. There were so many wonderful and excellent secret passages and small niches in Hogwarts, it would be nearly impossible to find it there, though it was quite possible. Had he returned the cup to the school, and wasted her time on a wild goose chase around the country?

Suddenly, very suddenly, something made Hermione stop in her tracks. The Hogwarts Express. He had attacked the _train._ The train was still in London, yes, waiting and undisturbed. He had not given Lestrange the cup yet, if that was indeed his plan, because he could not get to it. Platform 9 ¾ was closed and inaccessible unless the train was running.

With a loud crack, Hermione vanished on the spot.

* * *

**Please review!**

**-Anubis**


	16. Chapter 17

**A/N: Happy Christmas!**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

**Please review! ;)**

* * *

The upcoming Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch match was, as usual, shaping up to be extremely competitive. The Sunday of the match finally arrived, and the whole school poured out to watch. The game might have been slightly more enjoyable if Zacharias Smith had not been giving antagonizing commentary, but there was nothing to be done for it now. He had finally finished picking on Ron and Ginny, suggesting that the two were only on the team because they were good friends with the captain, and begun criticizing the Gryffindor Beaters.

"Of course, Coote doesn't really have the usual build of a beater," Zacharias said loftily, as Coote sent a Bludger flying straight into Urquhart. "They've generally got a bit more muscle, but I suppose if he continues to flail around on his broomstick long enough, he might connect with _something…_"

"Are Beaters allowed to shoot Bludgers at the commentators?" Hermione muttered at Minerva, as Harry yelled for his Beater to knock one into Zacharias.

"Generally not," was the tight-lipped reply, and Hermione knew that Zacharias would not be commentating after this. Hermione glanced up at the seat behind her where Severus was watching the game, his expression inscrutable.

"And of course, he brought back Bell on the team," Zacharias droned, now drawing their attention to the Gryffindor Chaser. "Potter likes to play old faces. Though he may also want to get his glasses checked, because not only does he have the smallest beater in the school, but he's put Selenius Black on the team, and he's not much, is he, he's _tiny_…"

Selenius stuck his tongue out at Zacharias as he sped past the podium, Quaffle tucked under his arm.

"…and I—hold on a moment, is that a _Firebolt?_" Hermione saw Zacharias lean forward in his seat for a closer look. "Yes, it is! It seems Potter and Black have matching brooms. I have no idea why I'm surprised, given the close family ties, but it's likely that Potter put Black on the team for the broomstick, rather than the skill… didn't want to be stuck with another old log like the Weasleys', I suppose…"

Hermione saw Ron's face turn red, and Ginny looked coolly murderous. Draco Malfoy was sniggering on his broomstick, thoroughly entertained. Several of the Slytherin spectators cheered at this, and the Gryffindors booed, loudly.

"Don't listen to him," Harry could be heard yelling, as Slytherin Chaser Vaisey sped past him. "He's just jealous that our team's got more talent put in it together than the rest of the other teams have in twigs on their broomsticks… c'mon, Ron—pull yourself together!"

And Ron, who had been distracted by Smith's rambling, managed to do just that, darting forward to snap the ball out of the air just before Slytherin could score another goal. The sea of red and gold stood up and roared in raucous approval, drowning out Zacharias's following commentary. Ron threw the ball to Katie, and Selenius dive-rolled between her and the Slytherin Chaser trying to knock the ball out of her hands, forcing the latter to pull away quickly to avoid a collision. Hermione nearly jumped, as she realized that Selenius was using himself as a shield.

"They're going to kill him," she moaned.

"I hope not," was Minerva's prim reply.

Katie sped past the podium, passed it to Ginny, and a moment later—

"Gryffindor scores again," Zacharias said, sounding bored. "And Slytherin takes the Quaffle—oh God, what is that first-year doing _now?_"

Selenius had ambushed the bigger, bulkier Slytherin from below, swooping straight up and snatching the Quaffle right from under his arm before righting his broom. He immediately snapped the ball to Ginny, who took it away and shot off in the direction of Slytherin's goalposts.

"And once again, Gryffindor has proven itself to be the biggest show-offs that ever lived," Zacharias drawled, as Selenius and Katie both moved to cover Ginny's back. A pause, and then he boomed, "And Weasley weasels another goal for Gryffindor!"

Hermione frowned as the Gryffindor players hung back, waiting for the Slytherin Keeper to make a pass. It might have looked like showing off, but it was clear to her that the three Chasers were working as a team. Selenius was tiny compared to the rest of the players and had superior broom, which was probably why he was doing the ball-stealing—the opposition had a hard time tangling with someone who wasn't their own size. But Ginny and Katie were bigger, stronger, and made better shots which was why he didn't seem to be trying to score all that much.

But a moment later, Katie passed the ball to Selenius before a Slytherin Chaser could relieve her of it, and Selenius made to pass it over to Ginny again, when one of the Slytherin Chasers deliberately rammed into his broom, causing him to drop the Quaffle in order to hold on. The red and gold-clad stands shouted in a sea of disapproval.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle, calling foul, but it didn't help the fact that Selenius looked rather dazed. Ginny darted forward to say something to him, and he seemed to collect himself as Katie took the Gryffindor penalty.

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why we keep the firsties off the field—oh!" Harry was racing across the length of the field, and Draco was following him close behind, bent low over their brooms as they shot after a faint glint of gold hovering near Urquhart's ear. "It seems both Seekers have spotted the Snitch! They're racing—Potter's in the lead, and—" A moment later, there was an almighty roar of approval from the Gryffindor stands. "Gryffindor's caught the Snitch—" The sudden cheer from the scarlet-covered stands was suddenly interspersed with cries of surprise, as Draco failed to come to a stop in time, and the two collided. It was clearly unintentional, and the two Seekers struggled to right themselves. "Ouch! That's going to hurt in the morning. Gryffindor wins, but not without—aaauuugh!"

Ginny and Ron, it seemed, had both finally had enough. The game was over, and both had left their places—but instead of going to Harry, who had disentangled himself from Malfoy, and was holding the Snitch up for all to see while his teammates hugged him, the two of them had both collided into the Hufflepuff. There was a deafening crash, amplified by the microphone. A moment of echoed silence followed, and then the two of them appeared from the wreckage.

"I'll have you know that this 'old log' is a Cleansweep Eleven," Ron said in a self-satisfied voice, and with the microphone on, the entire stadium could hear him. "You're still on, what, a Comet Two-Sixty?"

The stands roared with laughter, applauding and shrieking with delight. The rest of the Gryffindor team landed beside the two Weasleys, hugging and congratulating each other. Ginny was attempting to placate a thoroughly irate Minerva with an insincerely muttered, "Forgot to brake, Professor, sorry," that was drowned out by the raucous crowd. Harry grabbed Ginny and pulled her into a hug, swinging her around; they were wearing identical expressions of hilarious elation.

"That was brilliant!" Selenius roared, struggling to be heard over the crowd. He wasn't the only Chaser giving the Gryffindor Keeper a slap on the back. "Wish I'd done that myself!"

"Wouldn't have done any good, you're too small!" Ron grinned.

Hermione was clapping and cheering along with the rest, even after the teams finally left the field. She glanced over at Severus, who was looking torn between disappointment and pride, and how much to show of either.

She beamed at him, and then left the stands with everyone else.

"That was an exciting game," Hermione said breathlessly, as she and Severus made their way back to their quarters. "I thought I was going to have a heart attack—and I _still_ have to kill Sirius for giving him that broom. Although I might change my mind about that by the time Christmas rolls around."

"I can't decide whether to be offended that Slytherin lost," Severus said, shutting the door to their rooms and locking it. "Or impressed that Selenius played fairly well for his first game."

"He played well. They all did. It was clear they had a strategy—"

"Yes, yes, go on and laud Potter's excellent captaincy," Severus drawled, kicking off his boots and sinking into an armchair. "Gryffindor will no doubt be celebrating tonight."

"I'm proud of him," Hermione said, bending over to kiss his cheek. "I may not like Quidditch, but I'm glad that Selenius enjoys playing, and that he was good enough to get on the team."

Severus pulled her into his lap, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as he kissed her thoroughly.

~o~O~o~

Hermione found herself pondering over whether the Quidditch match could have soured relations between Selenius and the Slytherins, and at first, she thought this might be the case. But after three days of wandering down to the dungeons with a chess set tucked under one arm and his wand in the other after his last class, it seemed Selenius still got his way out of sheer determination. They were back in the library on Wednesday as usual, though it took three irate sixth-year Slytherins and a stubborn first-year Gryffindor a trip to the infirmary to make this happen.

It became clear to Hermione that some of the Gryffindors had been reserved about Selenius's place on the team, not in the least because many of them had tried out themselves, but because compared to the rest of them—though not the other first-years—he seemed so very small, hardly the build for a Chaser. In addition to the fact that he didn't seem like a sport-playing type, pale and lanky and book-oriented as he was, this had kept most of the Gryffindors at arms-length. Now, however, the whole team was being given near-celebrity status within Gryffindor house, and Selenius was looked on with a more favor and acceptance than before.

He was a bit of an oddball, and difficult for other students to understand, but he seemed to weave through moments of blunt stubbornness and imperceptible manipulation depending on which road would give him what he wanted. But he'd clearly earned his place on the team, and that was all his housemates cared about now.

Christmas was approaching fast, and the opportunity this would bring was not lost on Hermione. She checked the date that the Hogwarts Express would be arriving at Hogsmeade Station to pick up the students returning home for the hols, and had offered to be the supervising teacher to ride back with them. That would give her plenty of time to search every inch of the train for the Horcrux that she was certain—that she hoped—was on board.

Hagrid had already single-handedly dragged the twelve enormous trees that would be decorated and placed in the Great Hall, and the rest of the teachers took it upon themselves to deck the castle for holiday spirit. He had also moved Charlie into his house, saying it was too cold for the dragon to stay outside, which meant that many of the students often saw snorts of fire and smoke in the windows of his hut as they walked to Herbology. Harry and Ron's visits down to Hagrid's hut were understandably cut short during the winter. Mistletoe hung along the corridors in abundance, and more than once, Hermione glimpsed Harry ducking into a secret passageway or a deserted corridor to avoid the many gaggle of girls who were hoping to trap him. This went on for several days, until Ginny finally dragged Harry under one of the hangings and kissed him in plain view for all to see.

Ron thought that this was simply hilarious. He had been in a spectacularly good mood since they had trounced Slytherin in the first Quidditch match of the season, and Hermione thought that this was rather fortuitous. In another time, under different circumstances, she suspected Ron would have been very sour to see his best friend dating his sister, and to have that same best friend still receiving plenty—albeit unwanted—attention from other girls. But he remained in good spirits, though he never lost an opportunity to poke fun at Harry for having to take mistletoe-free detours to class.

Despite the fact that everyone was clearly looking forward to the holidays, Hermione still kept her classes working hard until the last minute. The Gryffindor and Slytherin first-years, who had spent the first semester learning about the history and definition of the Dark Arts, were now being shown how to recognize it. Hermione brought in one of the screaming books from the Restricted Section, and allowed them all to have a try at reading it. Each and every time, it wailed, screamed, and struggled, making it otherwise impossible for anyone to actually open it and read—and Hermione explained to the rather startled and wincing students that this was the most benign thing a cursed book was likely to do to them.

Hermione saw Selenius give the book a calculating look just before they were dismissed.

The sixth-years had a much more exciting final class. Hermione had already ironed out the details and permission for this, but she challenged the entire class to a duel against her—two-dozen to one. What she had needed permission for, though, was the fact that she planned to duel them with the Imperius Curse in her arsenal. It had been allowed in fourth-year, and Hermione saw no reason why the sixth-years shouldn't be exposed to it in a realistic situation. The only difference was that Hogwarts had been under less scrutiny by the Ministry two years ago. But she herself had learned to throw it off in the midst of dueling, and that training had saved her life more than once, and so she insisted.

The only caveat was that one of the Aurors had insisted on being present. Hermione gladly chose Proudfoot, and he carved himself an unobtrusive corner of the room to observe.

The students had been very surprised when Hermione told them this. Harry and Ron had looked at her as though she had lost her mind. The few Slytherins muttered in disbelief, and the Ravenclaws were exchanging wary but curious glances. But she didn't have the patience for the wibbling protest she got from Ernie Macmillian, when he pointed out that it was illegal.

"As if Death Eaters will care if it's illegal or not," Hermione had snapped at him.

"But—" Macmillian began, but was interrupted, not by Hermione, but by Proudfoot.

"Professor Granger is correct," he said, scratching Mipsy behind the ears. "I hate to say it, but if more people knew how to protect themselves against the Imperius, the country would be safer for it. It's distasteful, I agree, but it will be extremely valuable when you finally leave school. Especially," he added, with a nod at Harry, "if you're planning on becoming Aurors yourselves."

That had made them all stand up a bit straighter in their seats. Hermione ordered them all to stand, spelled the desks away into a corner, and then began without warning. Hermione felt Ernie's surprise when she hit him with the Imperius, and the other students were too shocked to do anything about it, unsure if they were supposed to begin or if this was just a demonstration.

"That's how easily you will lose, if you let your guard down and don't have any resistance," Hermione said coolly, releasing Ernie, whose face had turned very pale. "And if you're just going to stand there gaping at me…"

Malfoy struck first, quickest on the uptake, and then the others joined in. It was desperate and dirty, but the duel did not sink to the same level of ruthlessness Hermione remembered when she herself had been a student. She had trained this class well, though—they were taking aim with their spells, and not firing them off in random stunts. Despite the fact that she was outnumbered, Hermione still had a clear advantage over them all, ducking and dodging and giving back as good as she got. They struggled and pushed, and she merrily danced out of the way of their efforts with trained, graceful ease.

"Don't waste your time constantly throwing up Shield Charms!" she crowed, as a Stunner flew over her head, courtesy of Terry Boot. "You don't know whether I'm going to cast an Unforgivable or not—" she dodged again, flicking her wand upwards at Ron, who let out a yelp as he was levitated into the air by his ankle "—and you waste your own opportunity to retaliate! Dodge and fire back, don't allow yourself to fall on the defensive or you'll never get anything done!"

She caught Malfoy with the Imperius, causing him to turn his wand on Theodore Nott, ordering him to fire off a Bat-Bogey Hex before the Slytherin was able to pull up his own resistance. Hermione was actually surprised for a moment at how quickly he had managed to throw her off, but rallied at once.

"Good, Malfoy! _Excellent._ Fifteen points to Slytherin!_" _She whipped her wand at him again, even as she ducked the spells crisscrossing around her. "_Stupefy!"_

By the time class ended, the students looked ready to collapse on the floor with exhaustion. They had never had such an intense workout, and they looked both apprehensive and eager when Hermione informed them that they would be doing this once a week after winter break. Malfoy staggered to his feet, looking oddly proud of himself, as though he thought he had finally done something that impressed even himself. Terry Boot looked as though he might never walk again. Ernie Macmillian had fared no better, though he had enough energy to help the Ravenclaw up. Harry and Ron looked as though they might faint with exhaustion, and the other students seemed to have finally realized just how underpowered they really were.

"I didn't think dueling was that hard," Seamus said, out of breath, as he collected his things.

Neville, red-faced and sweating, didn't seem to have enough left in him to speak.

Proudfoot applauded as the students left the room. Hermione didn't sit down until the door had closed, but then she collapsed in her chair, happy but tired, and pulling the escaped locks of hair out of her face.

"I still don't know why you wouldn't want to become an Auror, skills like those," Proudfoot said, taking a seat. "You would pass with flying colors."

"Aurors aren't the only ones who need these skills," Hermione said, summoning a goblet and tapping it with her wand. Water filled it to the brim, and she took a long gulp. "Someone needs to teach them how to protect themselves, because the Department of Magical Law Enforcement can't be everywhere at once." Mipsy padded up to her, and Hermione ran her hand over the kneazle's head. "Hello, beautiful."

Proudfoot chuckled. "It's a good thing she still likes you. That was a rather impressive display of power."

"Thank you," Hermione said. Mipsy head-butted her hand, and she scratched the sweet spot behind the plumed ears.

"I'm glad I got to watch," Padfoot said. "I must admit, though—you're surprisingly good at casting Unforgivables."

Hermione laughed ruefully. "You _are_ observant!" Her expression grew somber. "I fought against You-Know-Who the first time. Both sides used Dark magic to try and bring down the other." She grimaced. "Everyone was equally… ruthless."

"That's true," Proudfoot noted. He paused. "I've been thinking about why you Obliviated Bellatrix Lestrange. With her safe in Azkaban, I would have thought it unnecessary, but you seemed to know she would escape."

"I didn't know," Hermione said quietly. "But I do know that You-Know-Who—" she was careful to resist calling him _the Dark Lord_ "—has broken his followers out of Azkaban before. Bellatrix Lestrange is his most fanatical Death Eater, and he has plenty of uses for her. It seemed unlikely that she would remain for long."

"And why is it important to you that You-Know-Who not know you helped bring her in?"

"Because I'm just supposed to be a simple schoolteacher," Hermione lied. Mipsy looked up at her, eyes narrowed, and Hermione saw Proudfoot give her a look that clearly said he wasn't buying it. "I honestly can't tell you, Proudfoot. I'm sorry."

"Is part of the reason because you're Hermione Granger?" the Auror asked lightly.

Hermione froze. Her eyes narrowed at him, and glared. "What gave it away?"

"Plenty of things. The similar surname and uncanny likeness made me suspect that something was up, and when I looked at the missing persons report for Hermione Granger, I found an interesting notation that she had applied for—and kept—a Time-Turner in her third-year." Proudfoot stroked his beard. "I searched through the Hogwarts library records, and found a picture of you when you started teaching in 1981—you were only a few years older than you were when you disappeared, which meant that when I compared the photographs, it became rather clear that it was you."

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "And what, exactly, are you going to do with this information?"

"Nothing," Proudfoot said. "I searched for any other records the Ministry had for you, and aside from exam scores and a marriage license, you're practically obsolete. I brought it to the Minister, who informed me that he already knew. The only reason I bring it up now is because I still have one final question that's been bothering me for the past several months." He leaned forward in his seat. "How did you get Sirius Black out of Azkaban?"

"Minister Fudge was corrupt, and I took advantage of that to free a man who didn't deserve to be imprisoned," Hermione said quietly.

"I thought that might have been it. You see," Proudfoot said, looking rather relieved, "I was worried you had found a weakness in Azkaban itself, and exploited it—for good reason, I suppose, but that the weakness might still be there."

"Who says it isn't?" Hermione pointed out. "Scrimgeour may be doing all he can to try and hold the Ministry together, but that doesn't mean that lower on the chain, someone's still pulling strings for You-Know-Who."

Proudfoot frowned, and Hermione knew he was considering her words carefully.

"Look into it," Hermione suggested, getting to her feet. "See if you can find anything. In the meantime," she said, gesturing at the door, where her fourth-year students were now peering into the classroom, "I have class."

~o~O~o~

Hermione stepped onto the train as soon as it arrived, before the other students had made their way down from the castle. The House Elves could be seen popping in and out of existence with the students' luggage in hand, and Hermione walked through the train, trying to figure out where someone would hide something on it permanently. She started in the conductor's compartment, which yielded nothing, and slowly worked her way to the back, wand aloft as she tried to detect whatever trace of Dark Magic she could find.

Something prickled against her, as she neared the Prefects' carriage. She stopped and ran her fingers along the compartment doors, trying to latch onto the pulse she had just felt, and then pushed it open. This compartment was nearly identical to all the others, though it was slightly larger and had a few amenities, such as plush cushions and the fact that they would be the first ones to have the trolley witch stop by. Otherwise, it was rather unremarkable.

Hermione felt another twinge, as she ran her fingers along the compartment walls, which only grew stronger as she moved onto the cushions. She reached for the inside of her leg, where the hidden knife Sirius had given her for Christmas two years ago was stored, and pulled it out. She slashed one of the cushions, and hit nothing but hard wood. She tapped the cushion with her wand, tearing it out of the seat, and then ran her hands against the surface of the wood. There was magic imbued in it, and Hermione tugged and pulled and wrestled with it until it finally came undone, and the square length that had been covered by the cushion suddenly glowed and gave way. It shone brightly for a moment, and then it vanished, leaving behind a hollow compartment.

There, lying nestled at the bottom, was Hufflepuff's golden cup.

The door to the compartment opened, and Tonks stuck her head in.

"The students are here, you might want to—wotcher!" she said, sliding the door open further and stepping in. "What are you doing?"

In response, Hermione simply reached in and lifted up the cup, holding it up in the glistening afternoon sun.

~o~O~o~

Hermione pulled her son into a tight hug the minute he stepped foot in the Burrow. She had missed the train, having gone back to the Headmaster's office to dispose of the Horcrux immediately, and it was Sirius who picked him up from Platform 9 ¾ for the sake of keeping up appearances. She had a bookbag slung over her shoulder, with the destroyed remains of Hufflepuff's Cup wrapped up carefully inside.

She saw Selenius every day, but it was different once they were no longer in school. It was good to have him back.

"Mum," Selenius muttered, trying to pull away after moment. "They'll see—urf!"

He nearly fell over as Crookshanks wove around his legs, tripping him up, perhaps as justice served for making him ride back on the train in a carrier. Hermione laughed, and bent down to pick up the half-kneazle.

"Harry and Ron already know." She glanced over at the kitchen, where the boys could be seen mutinously peeling a mountain of sprouts. "Molly and Arthur are glad to have you, as usual. Ginny's upstairs with Fred and George—"

"I'm off." And so he was, racing up the stairs, no doubt eager to meet the famous twins in person. They didn't know about him yet, and unbeknownst to them, Selenius had already seen them before even though they hadn't seen him—but this would be the first time they spoke. Hermione chewed her lower lip as she watched him dash off. She was slowly trying to let him be less—well—hidden, but it was hard for her, knowing that if the wrong person found out, Selenius's life would be forfeit, among her own and Severus's.

Hermione and Severus could have told the Dark Lord that they had a son, but they had deliberately chosen not to. Now, if they did reveal it, Voldemort would be furious at the deception. There was simply no going back, and Hermione had accepted that. But Hermione had also eventually realized that they couldn't keep Selenius hidden, Dark Lord or not. He was growing up. He needed friends, to be allowed to stretch his wings, and make something of himself.

"You could help us, you know," Ron said, leaning back so that he could see her through the doorway. "One flick of your wand, and we'd be done."

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione said, pretending to think it over, but her grin gave away her intent to comply. She set Crookshanks back down, and he trotted off up the stairs to find Selenius.

"Please?" Ron implored.

Hermione let out a rather put-upon sigh, but snapped her wand at the sprouts. The knives flew out of Harry and Ron's hands, and began peeling the mountain of sprouts of their own accord. Ron let out a quiet whoop of, "Yes!" and Harry looked at her gratefully before the two of them darted up the stairs to join the others.

Sirius was nowhere to be seen, but Buckbeak was strolling through the garden, scratching at the ice-packed ground for gnomes, so she knew he had to be here. With a final look at the cozy home, she departed.

~o~O~o~

Hermione and Severus planned to stay at Spinner's End, and Hermione would visit the Burrow on Christmas Eve and the following day. Selenius was staying with the Weasleys, not just because Hermione and Severus actually wanted some time away from Hogwarts to be alone, but because there was always the chance that they would have unexpected guests. They both tried to push their cares and worries aside long enough to enjoy the moment; there was, after all, no point in taking time off from Hogwarts if they were going to spend it fretting over what they would have to do when they went back.

Lying next to each other on the couch, legs tangled and a book shared between them, was one of the best ways they could think of to spend their time. They were tired and drained, with only so much time to recuperate before they were once again thrust directly into the fray of their different duties. They occasionally sighed and shifted their positions, but for the most part, they spent the first evening of break in absolute lassitude and nuzzling silence.

They had fallen asleep in this position when there was a knock on the door. Hermione and Severus both startled awake, nearly throwing the other off and onto the floor as they scrambled to get to their feet. Severus stumbled a bit, as his legs had fallen asleep and lost all feeling in them, before making his way to the door. Hermione slid the bookcase behind them, hiding the fact that it was a secret passageway that led to the rest of the house, and then sat down in one of the armchairs, her expression perfectly neutral.

Severus opened the door a fraction, peering out into the street. And then a moment later, he opened the door a bit wider, enough that Hermione could see who he was talking to.

"Narcissa," he said, and Hermione recognized the polite, almost welcoming tone that he only used with the Malfoys. "What a pleasant surprise."

"I'm sorry to bother you, especially at Christmas," Narcissa said, in a low murmur that Hermione had to strain to hear. "But I felt—this was important—"

Severus opened the door further, indicating she should come in. Snow had fallen outside, and it was bitterly cold; Narcissa stepped inside, and Hermione was relieved to see that she was alone. She had feared for a moment that they might have to play host to Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Thank you," Narcissa said, lowering her hood. She saw Hermione, and a strange expression overtook her face, as though she wished she would disappear. "I apologize for coming this late."

"It's about Draco, I suppose?" Hermione asked lightly, crossing her legs.

"Yes," Narcissa said, her expression shuttered as she took a seat on the couch. "Though I have no… _complaints_ about you. Draco seems to be doing adequately under your tutelage."

"He's doing excellently," Hermione said, affecting warmth to her tone as Severus took the armchair opposite her.

Narcissa looked only slightly mollified by this. "It's about when he graduates," she said, her voice quiet. "He won't need a job, which means he'll have plenty of time on his hands. And he's eager to prove himself to the Dark Lord…" she trailed off.

Hermione and Severus waited in stony silence, neither offering to finish Narcissa's words for her, and so the woman finally brought herself up to continue. "I don't wish for him to join," she said, the words tumbling out on their own, and it seemed that even she was frightened of her own daring. Hermione could see that it was taking a lot out of her to admit this to a fellow Death Eater. "Severus—you understand—you must…"

She covered her mouth with her hand for a moment, and then whispered, "I don't want him to follow his father's footsteps. Lucius has been in and out of Azkaban for this. Our reputation has suffered, and we've had some… proprietary losses. I cannot see a future for Draco in this."

"What do you expect me to do?" Severus asked, his voice low. "You can hardly expect me to go to the Dark Lord and ask him to spare Draco his service—"

"If Draco indicates an interest in pursuing a—a career," Narcissa said hesitantly, "the Dark Lord may leave him be. He's still just a boy. I doubt his lordship wants to deal with the—the difficulties that come with handling young adults."

"Young, spoiled recruits who have been privileged all their life," Hermione drawled, "who have never had to work a day in their life, and never grew up with the expectation of a job. Yes, I can imagine the Dark Lord has little patience for the type, though he'll still use them if he can."

Narcissa gave her a pained look, as though she couldn't quite tell whether Hermione was on her side or not.

"I suppose that you are asking for me to offer Draco an—apprenticeship?" Severus asked sleekly.

"No," Narcissa whispered. "I want him to take an apprenticeship out of the country. But he hasn't the marks or the extracurricular activities to explain why he would pursue it…"

Hermione understood. Narcissa couldn't simply bribe some well-known Potioneer to take her son on—aside from the fact that it would raise the Dark Lord's suspicions about why Draco was leaving, most Potions Masters wouldn't risk taking on someone potentially, dangerously incompetent for the task, no matter who or how handsomely their coffers were filled. In addition to the fact that with her husband out of Azkaban, hiding her financial affairs would be difficult, and Hermione suspected Lucius didn't quite agree with this.

A smile curled her lips.

"I suppose you'd want him to take remedial potions, then?" she asked, her tone light and mocking.

Narcissa shot her a sharp glare, but a moment later, both of their attention was on Severus. He was thinking carefully, Hermione's put-down gone unnoticed as he considered her other words. Hermione knew he was weighing his reputation as a Potions Master against his obligation as Draco's godfather. How far could he push the excuse of Slytherin favoritism in writing a letter of recommendation for someone who was neither interested in Potions, nor had the prerequisite skill to excel at the level a Master would expect? Severus had himself worked under Arsenius Jigger, and that had been a harrowing experience even for someone passionately invested in the subject.

Hermione recalled Draco's skill and interest in the Dark Arts, at least within her classroom, and then thought about one of the Professors she had had all those years ago, when she herself was a sixth year. Faulkner was probably still out of the country. Would he ever consider taking on an apprentice? Hermione remembered his skills as a teacher, and valued them highly. Would he remember one of his best students?

"To be honest, I never considered Draco to be good material as a potioneer," Severus said slowly, and Hermione could tell he was biding his time. "He would be ill-suited for it."

"If it means protecting him, then—"

"Then find an alternative," Hermione interrupted, coming to her husband's rescue. "Draco has done exceptionally well in my class. Why not have him apprentice to be a Curse-Breaker?" Narcissa's expression went blank but pale, and she added smoothly, "I already know someone who would be an excellent teacher, if I could convince him to take Draco on. It would require hard work, but I suspect this would be the better route for all concerned."

"Who?" Severus asked absently, still considering the merits of both proposals. "The only curse-breaker I can think of would be Bill Weasley, and I can't imagine—"

"I don't suppose you would remember Professor Faulkner?" Hermione asked.

It took a moment for Severus to place the name, and then he sneered. "We haven't the faintest clue where he is now. He may have moved back to the country by now—it's been nearly twenty years."

"It's still worth a look," Hermione replied diffidently. "He's an excellent teacher, and if not him, I'm sure we could find someone else. But risking your reputation as a Potions Master to give Draco a recommendation he can't live up to is guaranteed to end badly."

"That's true," Severus murmured.

"It can be done?" Narcissa asked quickly. Hermione could see the spark of hope in her eyes—the desperation in the lines on her face, and that only her trust in Severus was allowing her to accept the change in plans.

"I believe so," Hermione said, trying to resist biting her lower lip. It was a childish habit that she still indulged in, but not in front of Narcissa Malfoy. "If Draco continues to do well in my classes, and passes his NEWTs, I would be comfortable writing a recommendation for him and in acquiring Faulkner's cooperation."

"I'll arrange for additional tutoring if necessary," Severus allowed, glancing over at Hermione. "To ensure he passes."

"You swear it?" Narcissa asked in a low voice. "You'll do everything in your power to help him secure an apprenticeship?"

"You have my word."

The weight of the promise sank into the foreboding silence that enveloped the room, and then Narcissa stood up.

"I will hold you to that," she said, quietly, determinedly. "Thank you, Severus… Madam Snape."

* * *

**Please review!**

**-Anubis**


	17. Chapter 18

**A/N: Happy New Years Eve, guys! **

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

**Please review!**

* * *

It was strange for Harry to see Selenius tackle Sirius when they ventured down to the kitchen for dinner. Harry was used to having his godfather to himself—the one person who was like a real parent to him, who he didn't have to share with other siblings the way he did with the Weasleys—and to see that he now had what amounted to a little half-brother vying for Sirius's attention was a new experience. Harry wasn't sure what to think. But the moment Selenius released him, Sirius's arms were around him in a giant bear hug, and Harry grinned with relief that he hadn't been forgotten.

Hermione was there as well, and Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding that Snape was not. Bill and Fleur were also there, and the tension between Mrs. Weasley and her future daughter-in-law was palpable, manifesting in a bit of a hash over the Wizarding Wireless.

Remus was there as well, looking as ill-drawn as ever, but he looked surprisingly happy. It took a moment for Harry to realize the significance of the fact that Tonks was ruffling his hair and kissing him on the cheek, or the fact that Hermione was giving the werewolf a sort of smug, self-satisfied smile, as though she had known something all along. Harry watched her closely—or as closely as he could without garnering suspicion—and saw Gaunt's ugly old ring on her finger flash every so often as she moved her hand, whether it was to pick up a mug of eggnog or to tuck a strand of curly hair out of her face.

Crookshanks seemed to follow Selenius around wherever he went, and when they sat down in the living room for a loosely-organized dinner, curled up on Selenius's lap and refused to let him budge off the floor. Hermione and Sirius were talking with Remus in an undertone near the fire, though Harry knew it couldn't be a serious discussion or they would have taken it elsewhere. Fred and George were teaching Selenius to play Exploding Snap, which Harry and Ron joined in. The sound of cards blowing up and the smell of singed hair occasionally permeated the otherwise quiet, peaceful evening. Ginny was adding more paper links to the decorations around the room, and Crookshanks eventually padded over to see what she was up to when he became fed up with cards exploding in his face.

Harry fell over backwards in time to avoid having his glasses blown off his face again, and he and the other players devolved into helpless laughter as they set themselves to rights again. Harry chanced a glance over at the three Marauders, and for a moment, was struck by an odd feeling that something was missing. For a moment, he saw himself and Ron sitting in Sirius and Remus' place—the way they would have been, had things stayed the same, had Hermione not gone back in time—and now he saw just how much he and Ron had been pushed away from Hermione's inner circle of friends. There was an enormous gap between them now, and he felt an odd bit of jealousy and heartrending at the realization.

Ron was giving him a strange look, as though he was wondering why Harry seemed so far away, and then cast a furtive glance over at the three by the fire—and then Harry saw his expression transform into one that remarkably copied Harry's own feelings on the matter.

"It happens," Ron said, as Fred collected the cards and began dealing them out again. "Can't be helped sometimes…"

Selenius stood up. "I need to go to bed," he said, snapping his fingers at Crookshanks, who quickly stood up and trotted over to him, winding around his ankles.

"What? It's not even nine," Ron said, surprised.

"I'm tired," Selenius said, by way of explanation.

"No problem," Harry said, keeping his tone perfectly neutral. "Good night."

They watched him head up the stairs, with the ginger half-kneazle following close behind, and then Ron shook his head.

"He doesn't even act like a first-year sometimes. Too responsible," he said loftily. "Oi, Ginny! We've got an open spot."

Harry felt his face heat up as Ginny rushed to take Selenius's place, and mentally thanked Selenius for the opening. He and Ginny were together, and Ron was being remarkably good about it, but it was still awkward for him to ask her to join the two of them. To be the one to insist that Ginny join him, when it wasn't just him, but when Ron would be expected to stick around and endure it.

When Harry and Ron finally went up to bed, half-shooed half-cued away when Mrs. Weasley began turning up the volume on the Wizarding Wireless to drown out Fleur's attempt to copy Celestina Warbeck's number, it was to find Selenius lying on his camp bed with an open book.

"I thought you were going to sleep," Harry said, as he undressed for bed.

"Not with the racket going on downstairs," Selenius responded without looking up from his book. "If I have to hear 'A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love' one more time…"

There was a sudden shout from downstairs that caused them all to jump. Selenius sat up, alert, and Ron hastily pulled up his pajama bottoms before sticking his head out the door and peering down the stairwell, where Fred and George could be seen a floor down, heads bent as they leaned over the railing.

"What's going on?" Ron whispered, as Harry joined him.

"Dunno," Fred said, looking up at them, and then toward George. "Reckon we should try the old Extendables?"

"Would be downright immoral thing to do," George responded sagely, as he pulled the flesh-colored strings from his pocket and began lowering it. Harry and Ron quickly slipped down to their landing, followed by Selenius, and divided up the strings amongst themselves. George didn't have to lower the other end very far, before they got a very good earful of what was being said.

"It's dangerous!"

"Do I look like I give a damn, Sirius?"

"You're putting everything on the line for the Malfoy boy!"

"For reasons I can't give—"

"It's for Snape, isn't it?" Sirius said accusingly, his voice hushed. The initial volume of their argument had become subdued, but was no less heated. "Malfoy is Snape's godson, that's—"

"I said I have my reasons!" Hermione's voice was low, and dangerously close to a hiss. "But I can't leave the country without garnering suspicion, and I can't send an owl. It's not secure, and I wouldn't have an excuse. But you remember Faulkner, Sirius. That's why I need you to find him."

"I could send Kreacher," Sirius remarked sullenly, but it was clear that he didn't think much of the idea.

Harry heard Hermione pause, and then she said quietly, "Actually, you could."

"I—what?" Sirius asked, as though she had lost her mind.

"Kreacher has more respect for the Malfoy family than he does for you. If he knows we're doing this to protect one of them… the heir, especially… this could work in our favor. Might even endear us to him, really…"

"Why would I care about the good graces of the deranged little blighter?" Sirius sniped.

Hermione murmured a response that sounded suspiciously like something Harry had heard all too often, back when she had been promoting SPEW.

"You're mad," Sirius said muttered. Harry recognized his tone; it was the kind of voice Harry had come to recognize from someone who had lost an argument with Hermione. It was a familiar phenomenon. "This is insane…"

"Then bring Kreacher here," Hermione said, but quickly reversed herself. "Scratch that, I'll stop by Grimmauld Place tomorrow," she said brightly.

Harry, Fred, Ron, and George all exchanged looks. Selenius frowned, deep in thought, not quite present as he absorbed the conversation. There was a sudden creak, and George quickly began pulling up the Extendable Ear, just in case it was someone coming into the stairwell. He realized a bit late that it wasn't, but that it was rather the sound of the front door opening and shutting, as Hermione left after a muffled farewell to the few adults still downstairs.

~o~O~o~

Harry awoke the next morning to something flat and pointed smacking onto his bed, and he groggily sat up in time to realize that Ron was eagerly going through his Christmas stocking, and had tossed one of Harry's gifts onto his bed. He fumbled around for his glasses, and put them on in time to see Ron tearing the wrapping paper off the sweater his mother had knit for him.

"Prezzies!" he said happily.

Harry leaned over for the stocking at the end of his bed, and quickly began unwrapping them.

"Oy," Ron said, suddenly looking around. "Where's Selenius?"

Harry leaned over his bed to look at the first-year's unmade camp bed, and saw that his stocking had been emptied over it. A pile of sweets were neatly stacked in one corner, with a Christmas note from Sirius. It was guarded by a wooden dragon carving, which Harry knew had to be from Hagrid. Everything else had been put organized rather haphazardly over the sheets. A colorful box of products from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, with an open letter taped to the outside, which ended in the words _Love, Mum_ in Hermione's neat scrawl. A pair of Quidditch gloves, which Harry had bought him on a whim. There was the familiar wrapping that Mrs. Weasley used, which Harry figured meant that she had given Selenius a sweater.

Harry felt like there was something missing from the pile, as he slowly unwrapped his own gifts (a refilled Broomstick Polishing Kit from Sirius, an expensive-looking Sneakoscope from Hermione), and it wasn't until he had pulled on his socks and stood up to go downstairs for breakfast that he realized what it was.

There was a carefully peeled-back envelope lying tucked underneath the candy, missing its letter, and Harry bent down and turned it over. Snape's spiky scrawl cut through the paper.

_To Selenius. Love, Dad._

"Whazzat?" Ron asked, through a mouthful of chocolate cauldrons Sirius had given him.

Harry felt his stomach lurch oddly, feeling as though he had trespassed on something very important and private that he was not meant to see, as he quietly tucked the envelope back underneath the candy pile. They both finished unwrapping their things, and were tugging on their new sweaters when they finally made it down the stairs. The first thing Harry saw was the midnight-blue, diamond-patterned hat Mrs. Weasley was sporting; the second thing he realized was that the Minister of Magic was sitting at the table with Percy Weasley. Beside him, Ron stumbled to a halt, and out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see his freckled face turning red as he took in the sight of his estranged brother.

The table was somewhat subdued by the unexpected presence, but almost before Harry had finished taking in Scrimgeour's appearance, the Minister stood up, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin before coming around the table. Harry noticed that Percy didn't move an inch—he sat at the table like a child waiting to be excused, stiff-backed and awkward. Fred and George were eyeing him with dislike, and Harry rather suspected that Percy would be subject to one of more of their untested joke items before he was finally allowed to leave.

Selenius was sitting hunched over in his chair in his new red-and-gold sweater, cradling Crookshanks in his lap and eyeing the Minister balefully. He was half-hidden behind Sirius, who Harry could tell had not yet stood up to order him out because he didn't want to leave Selenius exposed. Better he be the first thing the Minister laid eyes on, rather than his youngest godson.

There was a moment of stiff silence as Harry stood almost toe to toe with the lion-like man, and then Scrimgeour extended a hand.

"I've been waiting for several months to have the opportunity to speak to you, Harry. Would you mind showing me around the yard while we have a little chat?"

Harry didn't take his hand, but eyed the Minister up and down, assessing him.

"Okay," he said at last.

He exchanged glances with Ron, and Ginny looked as though she might have liked to stand up and follow, but thankfully had the good sense to remain in her seat. Sirius looked as though he would have quite liked to insist on coming, but refrained. Molly and Arthur were the only ones who didn't look enormously worried, which put Harry at ease just a bit as they stepped out into the frozen yard.

"Your godmother is quite a remarkable woman," Scrimgeour began conversationally, as they ambled off a ways, stopping by the garden fence. "She was the one who gave me leave to speak to you. At last."

Hermione hadn't warned him about that. Harry frowned suspiciously and Scrimgeour, sensing his distrust, reached into the pocket of his robes to retrieve a letter. Harry took it, unfolding it. He recognized Hermione's handwriting immediately, and Scrimgeour continued to speak as Harry's eyes slowly scrolled down.

He felt rather than heard Buckbeak stride up behind him, when the great beast nudged Harry in the back so forcefully that he nearly tripped over a gnome hole.

"Beautiful creature," Scrimgeour said with all the tact of a diplomat, trying not to blink as the hippogriff turned a beady eye onto him, his head cocked in bird-like consternation. "Madam Snape has gone out of her way to advise me to be as forthright with you as possible, so I shall cut to the chase," Scrimgeour continued, with a tight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "The war against You-Know-Who is at an impasse, but we are making progress. Public opinion of us continues to fluctuate, but for you. Everyone is looking up to you, Harry, and we need all the support we can get."

Harry nodded slowly, folding up Hermione's letter and patting Buckbeak on the neck. "You want me to show support for the Ministry, so that the people who believe in me will also support you?"

"How well do you think the Ministry's doing?" Scrimgeour prompted, and Harry thought he rather heard a slight note of pride in his voice. "This is confidential, mind you, but we're constantly flushing out spies and turning them. We've saved countless lives, both magical and muggle, and Great Britain is still relatively stable despite the threat. There hasn't been a single successful attack in Diagon Alley since last August—"

"No," Harry said. There was a crackle as the letter in his hand let out a papery protest at being squeezed. "The Hogwarts Express was attacked by a dragon in September. What have you been doing about that?"

He saw Scrimgeour's brow furrow, and knew that he had been expecting a little more understanding from him, but Harry didn't care. He could handle himself, and perhaps Hermione was starting to rub off on him, but there had been countless other students on that train, and the Ministry had made no effort to protect them—no Aurors, no guard stationed on the train. If Hermione hadn't been there, the ensuing wreck alone would have probably killed most of them, never mind what would have happened after that.

"Yes," Scrimgeour admitted heavily, and Harry could see it was taking quite a bit out of him to concede this. "That was extremely short-sighted of us. We've assigned a pair of Aurors to the train since then, and will continue to do so until the threat of He Who Must Not Be Named is… past."

"So," Harry said casually, "if you're doing so well, why do you need me?"

"Because people are frightened," Scrimgeour stated. "They don't understand why the Ministry hasn't done more—hasn't been _able_ to do more—and we can hardly give them our reasons without playing our hand. Part of what protects us is the fact that the other side is in the dark. If we tell them that the Ministry hasn't the manpower to protect Wizarding Britain against a mass attack of giants and dementors, we might as well sign our own death certificates."

Harry found himself quietly thinking that Scrimgeour had a point.

"But the people must have faith in us, Harry. We need their cooperation. And that's where you come in."

Harry glanced down at the letter in his hands, thinking rapidly. Hermione had given the Minister permission to seek him out, but to what end? He knew she was pulling strings in the Ministry—Harry suspected that Scrimgeour's purpose in all of this was to act as her puppet, a figurehead for her, while she did what Voldemort himself had been hoping to do, which was to control the Ministry from behind the scenes. Scrimgeour had still made a convincing argument, and if Harry was honest with himself, he rather thought that the Ministry was doing a much better job than he had actually hoped for.

"Alright," Harry said at last.

"You'll do it?" Scrimgeour asked, looking extraordinarily pleased. "Excellent, excellent."

"But it has to be on my terms," Harry said determinedly, stuffing Hermione's letter back into Scrimgeour's hand. "I won't be paraded about. If you want a statement from me, it has to be because I want to give it. I won't be the Ministry's puppet."

He saw Scrimgeour frown slightly at this, but then it disappeared, and Harry knew that Scrimgeour had decided that this was the most he was going to get from The Chosen One at this time. Harry wasn't about to trust the Ministry blindly—it had seemed so much more efficient and purposeful when he had been much younger, but by the time he was fifteen, any delusions he had clung tightly to had been destroyed by stark reality. He agreed that Scrimgeour was making several fine points now, but he wasn't committing himself indefinitely, and would proceed with caution.

The idea of him proceeding with caution made him laugh.

"I think we'll get along very well, Minister."

Buckbeak let out a low screech that could have been mistaken for laughter.

* * *

**Please review!**

**-Anubis**


	18. Chapter 19

**A/N: Sorry for the late post. Exams this week. Forgot it was a Monday.**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

**Please review!**

* * *

Hermione carefully shut the door to Grimmauld Place behind her. Her boots made soft sounds against the wooden floor as she quietly went through the kitchen and then ascended the stairs, peering through the dusky gloom that had settled over the house in the absence of the Order's occupation.

"Kreacher?" she called softly.

There was no response, and Hermione began making her way through the house, calling intermittently until she finally found the cramped cupboard underneath the boiler where Kreacher slept. If the house elf wouldn't respond to her summons, then perhaps invading his nest would change his mind about ignoring her.

She opened it up, and found the odd array of broken picture frames—including that of Bellatrix Lestrange—tucked around his sleeping space. There were odd bits and ends stuck in there, as well: an old ring with the Black crest, a silver spoon, a pair of old trousers, a locket—

Something about the locket made Hermione reach out to tug it loose, something familiar and dangerous that tugged at her, and there was a _crack_ just behind her as she held it up to her wandlight for closer inspection. There was an ornate, silver S over the glass windows of the locket.

"Mudblood has been muddying up Mistress's house! Kreacher hears Mudblood making noise through his Mistress's house, but Kreacher doesn't—" Hermione turned to look at the house elf, and Kreacher let out a screech like an angry bullfrog when he saw the locket dangling from her fingers. "_Mudblood will give Kreacher back Master Regulus's locket!"_

Hermione clenched her hand around the locket. "Where did you get this?" she demanded shortly.

Kreacher made to lunge for it, but Hermione quickly stood up—nearly banging her head on the short, sloped end of the wall—and held it out of his reach.

"This is Slytherin's Locket, Kreacher!" she snapped, holding it up for the elf to see. "Why do you have it?"

Kreacher's eyes bugged out of his skull, and Hermione saw him tremble—whether with rage or fear, Hermione was not certain—and she could see that he was two sparks away from losing his nut.

"Master—Master Regulus gave Kreacher the locket," Kreacher said at last, his eyes fixed on the silver chain wrapped around Hermione's hand, as though hoping that giving her an answer would help entreat her to give it back. "Kreacher was told to destroy it, but Kreacher has failed again and again—Mudblood cannot have Master Regulus's locket, because Kreacher must break it!"

Hermione's breath hitched. She knew that Regulus Black had been killed, but Kreacher's words—now bordering on wailing hysteria—were starting to make her wonder if Sirius was wrong about why. They had all assumed he had gotten scared, ran off, and was hunted down and killed. It was a short, tight, satisfactory answer. But what if it was wrong?

"Kreacher," she said slowly, "are you telling me that Regulus gave this to you and asked you to destroy it? Before he died?"

The elf grabbed both of his ears and yanked on them. "Yes, Mudblood, yes!"

"And you haven't managed to do it yet?" Hermione turned the locket over in her hand.

"Kreacher tried!" the house elf moaned, tugging on his ears in distress. He was no longer focused on getting the locket back, so entrenched was he in his misery and shame. "Kreacher tries everything, but it won't break!"

Hermione closed her eyes.

"I think I know why Master Regulus wanted you to break it," Hermione said quietly. "I've been looking for this locket too, Kreacher, because I also need to destroy it." She clenched the locket in her fist. "I also came here to ask for your help, Kreacher."

"Kreacher doesn't serve the Mudblood!" Kreacher sneered.

Hermione ignored him. "I'm trying to make arrangements to protect Draco Malfoy."

Kreacher froze.

"I can't send an owl," Hermione said, now retrieving a letter from her pocket and holding it up for Kreacher to see. "No one can know about what I'm doing. But I need a letter delivered out of the country, to arrange an apprenticeship for young Malfoy."

Kreacher gaped at her. "Mudblood… Mudblood is trying to protect the young Master Malfoy?"

"Yes," Hermione said firmly.

Kreacher shook for a moment, fingers twitching, and then he snatched the letter out of her hand.

"Kreacher will do it, Mudblood… but Kreacher will do it for the Malfoy boy," he croaked. "And nots for you."

Hermione gave the elf a tiny little half-smile, and then her face fell.

"Tell me, Kreacher," she said. "Tell me everything."

~o~O~o~

Hermione didn't want to wait until the holidays were over. Instead, she took advantage of the Portkey charmed to her watch, and returned to Hogwarts directly, surprising the Headmaster in the middle of a book that he appeared to have been particularly enjoying.

Hermione wasted no time, tossing her traveling croak over on his desk and marching over to the glass case where the Sword of Gryffindor lay. "Happy Christmas, Albus. I just need to borrow the sword for a moment."

"You found another?" the Headmaster asked, immediately rising to his feet. "How?"

Hermione unlocked the case and pulled the sword out. "It was right under our noses all along," she said, dropping the locket to the Headmaster's desk without skipping a beat. Around them, the portraits were all immediately awake, eyeing the scene before them with something akin to curiosity and disbelief. Hermione was not sure if they were interested in what was happening, or scandalized by the way she simply barged in and made herself at home, as though she were entitled to the Headmaster's property.

"It was underneath our noses all along," Hermione repeated, resting the sword against the locket to gauge her swing. Dumbledore immediately came to stand beside her, turning the locket over in his fingers with consideration, before setting it back down. "Regulus Black didn't die because he was a coward."

She raised the sword.

"He died because he realized what a monster the Dark Lord was, and according to Kreacher, sacrificed his life to get the locket."

She brought it down with both hands. There was an almighty _thunk_, followed by a crack; the glass windows snapped inward, and a thin wisp of black smoke trickled out, unfurling ominously, but the locket didn't break. Hermione stared at the dent, and frowned.

"Kreacher told me about a lake," she continued slowly, sliding the sword back and preparing to cut down again. "A lake in a cave, full of dead bodies that attacked anyone who stumbled upon it… that's where the Dark Lord hid it. Regulus drank poison to reach it, and then replaced it with a fake."

There was another crack, followed by an eerie sort of whine as Hermione slammed the sword down again. The glass windows cracked even further, spidery and misty from the abuse, but didn't quite give. But a cold, dangerous aura was leaking out of it, and Hermione forced herself to keep talking to distract herself from succumbing to it as she raised the sword for the third time.

"I hope he finds it," she said in a strangled sort of voice. "I hope he realizes it's gone. That he was outsmarted by a wizard and his house elf."

She struck once more, and there was an ear-splitting shriek from the locket, dark smoke billowing out of it, as the sword finally pierced it. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut against the onslaught of magical backlash, and then cracked one open when it finally faded.

Hermione panted for a moment before she realized she was still gripping the sword with pale fingers, and shoved it aside to lift up the locket for inspection.

"I wonder how many other Death Eaters have turned their back," she said at last, letting the broken glass catch in the Yule morning sunlight.

~o~O~o~

Hermione sat in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, gazing into the fireplace. Kreacher had not yet returned, and though she knew she was expected at the Weasleys' for breakfast, she couldn't bring herself to go. She had far too much on her mind, and needed a quiet place to think while she waited for the house elf to confirm his errand.

The front door opened and shut, and Hermione looked up in mild surprise when she saw Sirius poke his head through the kitchen door.

"Hermione?" His brow was furrowed with concern. "We've been waiting for you at the Burrow."

Hermione grimaced. "Sorry."

"So how did it go with the little toerag?" Sirius asked half-heartedly, as he came around to Hermione's seat.

"It went better than I thought," Hermione replied quietly. "You ought to be nicer to him, Sirius."

"I—"

"We never really found out what happened to your brother, did we?"

Sirius's mouth opened and shut in surprise.

"I found out what happened today," Hermione murmured, stroking the shattered remains of the locket hanging around her neck. "He didn't die because he changed his mind and ran away, Sirius. He—" her throat caught for a minute, and then she said, "I'm sorry, Sirius. He died because he found out how the Dark Lord made himself immortal, and did what he could to destroy one of the means he used to do so."

Sirius's features, gaunt and pale from his years in Azkaban, seemed to crumple as Hermione's words hit him with the force of a sledgehammer. He seemed to grow unsteady on his feet for a moment, gripping a nearby armchair for support.

"He died a hero," Hermione said, taking off the locket and holding it out to him. "And Kreacher spent all these years trying to destroy the locket for him."

Sirius's knees gave way, and he collapsed back into a chair, gazing at the locket. Hermione watched his eyes go blank, no doubt replaying the memories he had of his brother, trying to connect the man he thought he knew with the new information he had now.

And the he leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. His shoulders shook, but no sound escaped him. The two of them sat in almost complete silence, each lost in their own mire, for nearly a quarter of an hour before they were interrupted by a loud _crack_.

Kreacher reappeared in the center of the kitchen, giving Hermione a short almost grudging sort of bow.

"Kreacher has delivered Mistress Mudblood's letter," he said, straightening. "Master Faulkner says he requires further letters of recommendation from Master Malfoy and his parents, but that he gives Mistress Mudblood's request due consideration."

"Don't call her that," was Sirius's subdued, muffled reprimand as he dragged his face from his hands. His eyes were reddened from crying, and he looked older than his years.

"Thank you, Kreacher," Hermione said, giving the elf a weak sort of smile.

"Mistress Mudblood is welcome," Kreacher croaked.

"I have something for you," Hermione said, gesturing at the locket in Sirius's hands. "Show him, Padfoot."

Sirius seemed to heave himself upright with great effort before handing the locket over to the house elf, whose eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as he took in the mangled heirloom. He took it, and then clutched it, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"Mistress Mudblood did it! Mistress Mudblood destroyed Master Regulus's locket!"

"You're welcome," Hermione said with a weary sigh.

"You can keep it," Sirius muttered, looking down at the house elf with a mixture of grudging reconsideration and dislike.

This was apparently too much for Kreacher. The house-elf's eyes widened, his fingers trembling as he held on tightly to Slytherin's Locket—and then he broke down sobbing.

~o~O~o~

There was an odd, if marked change in Kreacher and Sirius's interaction over the next few days. Sirius returned to Tine Cottage after Christmas, this time joined by the house elf, if only so that he could interrogate Kreacher about the things he never knew about his brother. When Hermione went to pay them a visit the afternoon before term resumed, it was to find Kreacher bustling around the kitchen and preparing a plate of sandwiches, switching between bad-naturedly sniping invectives and almost happily reminiscing about Regulus.

"Master Regulus was the good son, oh yes, unlike the Mistress's brat who broke his mother's heart, but Master Regulus did not know what the Dark Lord wanted with Kreacher until after Kreacher had performed his service…"

Hermione pulled out a second letter, this one much thicker than the last, with all that Faulkner had requested. Severus had taken the younger Malfoy aside two days earlier to inform him of his mother's intention, and had curtly ordered him to write a letter explaining why he wished to apprentice. Malfoy had reportedly been rather sullen about the prospect, but had otherwise made no complaint, fetching himself a quill and parchment to complete the task. Narcissa's own letter—more of a diplomatic plea than anything else—was also carefully folded in the envelope.

Kreacher immediately jumped up at the sight of the letter, almost snatching it out of Hermione's hands, and disappeared with a loud _crack_ before she could properly ask him to deliver it. Sirius gazed at the spot where the house elf had been moments ago, and then flicked his wand at the platter of sandwiches, summoning them to the table.

"Malfoy is a lucky git," he said, helping himself to a sandwich.

Hermione laughed, though she wasn't quite sure it was from amusement.

The few days she and Severus had together were interrupted by various things—from Hermione's duties to the Order to Severus's duties as a Death Eater—but they had put what time they had together to good use. Very good use, truth to be told. Hermione was still feeling run to the ground and overworked, but she now felt refreshed enough to resume term on a good note.

The students would not be taking the train back; arrangements had been made to allow them to return by Floo, and Hermione left with Selenius about two hours before Harry and the Weasleys were due. They arrived in Minerva's office, where the Transfiguration teacher was taking time between monitoring the Floo to do some reading.

"Welcome back, Snape."

There was some uncertainty as to whether she was addressing Hermione or Selenius, but it hardly mattered. Selenius ran off to put his things away, no doubt eager to hunt down the Slytherins who had already returned for a chess game, and Hermione returned to her own office to file the essays she had graded over break. Severus must have already dropped by, as there was a fresh rose in the vase, as always. She began organizing her papers, her mind wandering back to the task Dumbledore had given her, circulating her success and continued failures in her head.

_Diary, Ring, Locket, Cup, _she recited mentally. _Diadem, Snake, and… something of Gryffindor's, perhaps? Dumbledore hasn't said…_

She realized she had nearly put the seventh-year homework in the first-year folder, and quickly corrected herself.

_Where would the Dark Lord hide a diadem?_ She shuffled the papers, and then set them aside to work on another stack. _If I were the Dark Lord, where would _I _hide it? Especially if I wanted to keep something near the school… that's the only place I can think of now, everywhere else that he might possibly have a connection to has already been checked…double-checked… I even triple-checked some places…_

There was a sudden knock at the door to her office, and Hermione nearly knocked her papers to the floor in surprise.

"Come in," she said, stuffing the last third-year essay into its proper cabinet.

The pale, blond, pointy-face of Draco Malfoy cautiously peered inside, and then he walked in. He shut the door behind him almost reluctantly, and Hermione knew—somehow, the expression on his face gave it away—but she knew that whatever he was here for, it was for more than just homework help or to discuss his grades. In fact, he had never once stepped foot in her office before now.

"I… my Head of House… Professor Snape told me I should come see you," Malfoy said, not quite meeting her eyes.

Hermione gazed at him coolly for a moment, and then motioned for him to have a seat. Malfoy silently obeyed, his grey eyes surveying the room, as though hoping it would give him some insight on her that would help him navigate whatever it was that he was here for.

"Well, talk," Hermione said curtly but not coldly, flicking through her file drawer. "I'm listening."

"My mother's been making arrangements for me to take on an apprenticeship, after I graduate," Malfoy began.

"Two years into the foreseeable future, yes."

"And possibly some interview work over the summer," Draco said, his tone surprisingly hopeful. He'd rather have two or three months to get to know the master he was working hard to earn a contract with for the next three to five years of his life, before committing. "And Professor Snape's put me in contact with the master you recommended."

Hermione slowly sat up, giving Malfoy her full and undivided attention. The boy continued:

"He said… that I have the grades, but that Faulkner is very strict and exacting, and would only take the best." Malfoy winced, and Hermione could see that it was taking some serious quashing of his pride to say what he came to say. "He said I should speak to you about extra lessons."

"I did discuss the possibility with Professor Snape," Hermione said, leaning back in her chair and regarding Malfoy with a considering eye. "And you're right, of course—I did recommend Faulkner. He was my Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher when I was your age, and I have nothing but the highest regard for him. Your work in my class is exceptional, but you are correct: Faulkner has indicated he will accept nothing less than absolute dedication and hard work from an apprentice, along with a degree of skill and experience that you do not—as of yet—possess."

Malfoy looked rather depressed and discouraged by this. "I have been working hard," he said, trying to sit up a bit straighter. "In your class, I mean. I don't know how…"

"That's what the extra lessons would be for," Hermione stated calmly. And then, with an almost reluctant attempt to boost his ego, "They're not remedial, by any means. Consider them akin to a level of advanced placement—it'll be more work for you, but if you continue to succeed in them as you have in my regular class, I can assure you will have that apprenticeship."

Malfoy squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. "Why him?" he asked. "I mean, I appreciate the chance to work under the best, but—isn't there another curse-breaker I could apprentice under?"

"Not that I know of, not out of the country," Hermione said, folding her hands together in her lap, twisting Gaunt's ring on her finger as she did so. Malfoy's brows rose at this in surprise, and she gave him a thin smile that did not quite reach her eyes. "Additionally, Malfoy, I am well aware of the reasons for which your mother wants you out of the country. There is no guarantee that the Dark Lord will be satisfied in letting you go, but I know that Faulkner is more than capable of disguising and protecting you. Of convincing the Dark Lord that you're not worth his concern."

Malfoy stiffened at this, and Hermione understood her slip, but did not attempt to take it back. "I know this may take some time to sink in, but sometimes you will have to work harder—harder than you believed yourself possible, harder than anything else you have worked for in your life—for things that you wish you didn't need."

Hermione pulled out a sheet of parchment from her desk, and tapped it with her wand. Black ink began to swirl over it, leaving behind the letters of an Apprenticeship contract.

"If you want to do this, Malfoy, it must be because you want it badly enough to put in the time and effort needed," Hermione said, her expression carefully blank, giving nothing away. "Unlike Professor Snape and his attempt at giving Potter remedial potions, I will not teach you simply because someone else asked on your behalf."

Malfoy's interest seemed to perk up at this, but he still seemed hesitant. His face was a mixture of fear, excitement, defiance, and uncertainty. Hermione pushed the contract toward him.

"Keep this with you. No, don't sign it," she added, as Malfoy searched himself for a quill. "Keep it, and look it over while deciding whether you wish to take advantage of the opportunity so many people have worked to provide you for."

That seemed to needle him just right. "I want to do this," he said, and there was the slightest trace of a sneer to his tone.

"Then take the contract with you, and whenever things seem to become too difficult to go through, take another look at it," Hermione said, waving the parchment away with a dismissive hand. "In case you ever need a reminder. You will come to my classroom every Monday, Thursday, and Saturday at 6pm. I expect you to be prompt."

"Should I tell Professor Snape?" Malfoy asked, his voice barely audible as he absorbed his fate and tried to memorize and make sense of the odd dates. He slowly stood up, and Hermione watched as he absently folded the contract up.

"If you like. I'll be more than happy to tell him, myself."

"No, that's alright," Draco said quickly. He stuffed the parchment into his pocket. In a tone that was utterly respectful, he added, "Thank you for your time, Professor."

Hermione watched him leave. As soon as the door shut, she sank onto her elbows on her desk with a sigh.

_Now, where does a megalomaniac hide a glittering, magical tiara?_

~o~O~o~

The tip of Hermione's lit wand was the only sign of her presence in the vast darkness of the library, aside from the low lamp she had set down on one of the nearby study tables. She had been here since the early evening, attempting to find a reference—no matter how small—to Ravenclaw's object of legacy. The Sword of Gryffindor was easily found and widely mentioned in many historical texts, followed closely by Hufflepuff's cup, which—upon reading about its magical properties—had made Hermione feel a welling sense of enormous guilt that she had destroyed it. She still had the husk, what was left of it, but there was little doubt that one of the founders' objects had perhaps irrevocably wrecked another's. Slytherin's locket was only mentioned in passing, cited as a legend and a myth more than fact, and she had yet to find anything about Ravenclaw's diadem.

_Perhaps I should look into having Hufflepuff's Cup repaired…_ she thought desolately, as she shelved yet another tome and pulled out the next, her mind wandering. _Perhaps, if I took it to Borgin and Burkes… or a goblin… but it would have to be on the sly…utterly confidential…_

_And Slytherin's Locket…_ No, she couldn't take that from Kreacher. _Well, at least we know the Sword of Gryffindor is still in good working order…_

She detected a slight movement out of her eye, a faint shuffling of footsteps catching her ears, and immediately turned her wand in the direction of the source. There was nothing there, but Hermione trusted her instincts—she had been doing this for far too long—and slowly eased forward, every muscle tensed.

"Who's there?"

There was no response. She had expected none.

She whispered, "_Homenum Revelio."_

There. In the corner, behind the next bookshelf. Hermione wheeled around the bend, and there was a sudden gasp of surprise as she found Selenius crouching low by the bottom of the shelf, a heavy book in his lap. He was blinking up at her, at a light that was much too bright, and held up his hand so that he could see her. Hermione lowered her wand, and let out a low sound of exasperation, before striding forward and pulling him up from the floor, causing the book to slip and thunk to the ground. Selenius rushed to pick it up, clutching it to his chest as he tried to gauge just how much trouble he was in.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione hissed.

Selenius swallowed. "Sorry," he whispered

"It's _late!_ It's four hours past your curfew, and you have class tomorrow. _What. Were. You. Thinking?"_

"I—I had to look something up," Selenius muttered, holding onto the book even tighter. "I couldn't sleep without checking it."

Hermione bit her lip, trying not to smile, attempting to muster up the appropriate amount of fury a teacher catching a student out of bed after hours ought to have, but she was failing. She more than sympathized with how he felt, knowing full well that—though she had rarely snuck out in her earlier years—she had often stayed up very late to read or check something that continued to nag at her. Hermione grasped his arm, and lowered it so that she could see the title. _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts._

"This is what kept you up?" she asked quietly with a sigh.

Selenius nodded.

"Five—no, ten points apiece for every hour you've been out here past curfew," Hermione said, placing her hand on his shoulder and turning him around. "It'll be another ten if you don't get up to bed, now. And leave the book, it'll be here in the morning when you can check it out properly."

Selenius slowly put the book back, changed his mind, and pulled out three of the books, stuffing the tome he had been reading behind three others. Hermione let him, gazing at him with exasperation as he did so, and then he stood up.

Hermione gestured at the entrance to the library. "Can I trust you to return to Gryffindor without any further detours?"

"Yes," Selenius stated, trying to look as pious as possible.

"Very well. Go. And don't think I won't tell your father about this."

He left, and Hermione watched as he slipped out of the library. He held the door open a second longer, turning back to look at her, and then it shut behind him. Hermione lowered her wand, and returned to continue perusing the books, still searching for anything—any scrap of information—regarding Ravenclaw's Diadem.

~o~O~o~

"I'm not deaf," Draco hissed in Selenius's ear, as they left the library. He had not removed his Disillusionment charm, and had he not been on the other side of the library when Selenius was caught, he was certain he would have been found. He shuddered at how he would have explained himself, and tucked the volume he had filched more firmly under his arm. But he had heard everything, sneaking closer to see what would become of his late-night cohort. "I heard her. No teacher ever speaks to a student like that, and especially not her. She's your mother, isn't she?"

"That's none of your business," Selenius muttered under his breath. "Anyway, it's your fault I got caught. This was your idea."

"There were some things I needed to check. Why did you never tell me she was your mother?"

"Why do you think?" Selenius whispered out of the corner of his mouth, as they rounded the corridor. "It's bad enough that everyone thinks I'm Sirius Black's son—" He looked away at this, his face turning red with anger as he realized his slip-up, and took a deep breath. "Sirius is my godfather. He—he helped take care of me, when I was younger, and my parents couldn't always be around. But if it's not some toerag whispering that it really was his fault that Harry's parents were killed, it's them being jealous gits and saying I paid my way on the team." He threw Draco a dirty look. "How do you think they'd react if they knew my mum was the Defense teacher?"

Draco grabbed Selenius' arm to halt him. "It's not Black?" he said, looking extremely surprised, and then collected himself. "Then who is it?"

Selenius yanked his arm away. "I'm not about to tell you," he sneered.

"You're not really a pure-blood, are you?"

"I never claimed to be," Selenius snapped, endeavoring to keep his voice down. "Everyone just assumed."

"Your mother," Draco said slowly, "is a witch. So your father…"

"He's a wizard," Selenius said coldly. "I'm a half-blood. I've always said that. Now tell me to my face that it makes one bit of difference!"

The words rang out alarmingly in the silent hall, for all that they were whispered, and Draco quickly glanced around to make sure Filch or his cat hadn't heard before grabbing Selenius and pulling him behind a curtain that passed for a door. He had seen Potter duck in here once before, while trying to avoid the gaggle of girls hoping to snare a kiss with him under the mistletoe—Filch was likely to overlook them here.

"No," he said quietly. "It doesn't make a difference. You're still the first person I would have picked to go with me, tonight."

Selenius stiffened, and then slowly relaxed, looking slightly mollified. "You've changed," he said, almost conversationally.

"I've adapted," Draco said, a bit harshly. For a moment, he seemed frightened, and looked away. "The world—the world wasn't what I thought it would be, growing up. I'm not stupid—heritage still counts for a lot, mind, but not in the way my parents think." He suddenly looked wary, his face draining of all color. "Don't tell anyone I said that."

Selenius said nothing, but his eyes searched Draco's face, sympathetic but observationally calculating.

"We should go before Filch finds us," he said at last. "I already lost forty points from Gryffindor. I don't need a detention on top of it."

Draco quickly peered around the curtain to check, and then the two slipped out, back to their respective dormitories.

* * *

**Please review!**

**~Anubis**


	19. Chapter 20

**A/N: Sorry about the delayed update. The first few days after exams are always a bit wacky, and I didn't realize I'd missed Monday until Thursday morning!**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

**Please review.**

* * *

It was with great trepidation that Draco arrived at Professor Granger's office on Monday evening. He had too many things on his mind at the moment to truly care about the possible apprenticeship Granger was preparing him for. He especially did not want to deal with her now, fearing that they might end up practicing Occlumency just as his aunt had with him over the summer, and he suspected that she would not take kindly to him knowing her secret. Nor did he want her to know that he had snuck into the library after curfew—and brought her son along, though he didn't know what it was really for—to check the old library records.

What he found was that she had been telling the truth. She had taught for nearly five years before leaving abruptly—_twelve years ago, to have Selenius_, Draco's mind chanted, running away with the discovered connection—and Professor Faulkner had taught two years before that. She had started teaching at the same time his Head of House had, which meant they surely knew each other. Another avenue of information he might be able to mine. _Do I risk asking Professor Snape about that…? _

The mystery had plagued him for most of his waking day. How could Selenius be so stubbornly against pureblood supremacy, yet have a clearly amiable relationship with a mother who called the Dark Lord by his title? How would such a witch ever have anything to do with someone like Sirius Black, to the point where she would have a member of the Order of the Phoenix be his godfather? It was a tangled mess, and Draco had given himself a minor headache trying to unravel it.

He considered sending a letter to his mother, or perhaps asking Professor Snape, but he thought better of it. At least for now. It was clear that Selenius had spoken to him in trust, and Malfoy didn't exactly want him to go around revealing his secrets to others, either. It was the equivalent of two people holding each other at wand-point—mutually assured destruction. Draco had no interest in this. Quite the opposite. In fact, for the first time in years, Draco felt as though he actually had a friend—not a goon to follow him, but someone that he could rely on to watch his back and support him.

There was also something about Professor Granger that always bothered him, kept him on edge. At first, it was her surname, timed with the disappearance of Potter's best friend, but Draco had quickly dismissed the similarities, if only because the two were nothing alike. Professor Granger was dangerous, in the same way Draco had always recognized Albus Dumbledore to be dangerous. In some ways, Professor Granger frightened him even more than the thought of the Headmaster—Dumbledore had more mercy in him than he suspected Professor Granger possessed. Potter's mudblood friend probably would have broken down in tears if she had stuck around long enough to have Professor Granger as a teacher. There was no comparison.

He knocked quietly on the classroom door, and when there was no answer, pulled out his wand and slipped inside. A bolt of red light hit just above him, where it would have struck him if his head had not already been ducked, and he slammed the door shut behind him, pointing his wand directly at the Defense teacher.

Professor Granger was giving him a cold, satisfied sort of smile as she lowered her wand. "It's good to see you're not complacent. Come, then—I've got something to show you."

Draco wasn't sure whether to be angry at her or impressed with his own precaution, and shoved both feelings aside as Professor Granger pulled out an odd, swirling black orb and placed it on one of the desks.

"We're going to start off simple," she said conversationally. "I want you to identify and try to break the curse I've placed on this."

Draco rolled up his sleeve, staring down at the black smoke that curled within the glass crystal ball. "You're not going to hex me while I do this, are you?"

"I'm not trying to turn you into Mad-Eye moody," Granger said by way of response.

"Yeah, well, you're doing a pretty good job of it," Draco muttered unintelligibly under his breath.

Professor Granger just smiled.

"Well, go on then," she said, taking a seat in one of the nearby chairs and folding her hands in her lap. The ugly old ring on her hand flashed in the torchlight. "Let's see what you've got."

Draco tried. Less than five minutes later, he let out a squeal of pain and tripped over the chair behind him, falling flat on his back as the cursed orb hit him with a Bat-Boogey Hex. He waved his arms frantically, trying to beat the flying bat-shaped boogers away from his face long enough to retrieve his wand and cancel the spell. He had identified the curse that the orb was under, or at least he thought he had, and when he'd tried to use the counter-curse on it, it had lashed out at him.

Granger watched him struggle, her face calm.

"I suppose I should have warned you to be careful?" she asked, in a tone of mild inquiry.

Draco said nothing, as he finally banished the remnants of the hex on his person and sat up, utterly humiliated.

"Once bitten, twice shy. Now try again."

~o~O~o~

The weeks passed slowly. January melted into February, and aside from the Apparition Lessons offered by the Ministry, the private lessons continued uninterrupted. Draco had begun to excuse himself from Quidditch practices, missing several important meetings, to the point where the reserve Seeker, Harper, was regularly showing up in his stead. He had no choice; he could not afford to give even the slightest suggestion to Professor Granger that he wasn't willing to make sacrifices for a greater goal. The arranged lesson on the 9th of January had been unexpectedly canceled, but aside from that, Draco made sure he arrived for every lesson.

He had no lesson with her on Valentine 's Day, as that fell on a Friday, but the freshly-picked rose that she usually kept in a vase on her desk was instead worn in her hair. Every student saw it. She dueled them in class just as well with it.

That aside, working with Professor Granger was grueling work. From learning how to recognize books that required certain conditions from the reader to be read without incurring harm to puzzling out the predicted effects of unknown curses, Draco had never worked harder in his life. There was no getting around it. He oftentimes found himself wondering if he was cut out for it—if working under a mere Professor was this difficult, how would he fare in the company of a wizard he intended to apprentice under, and who even Granger seemed to hold in unusually high esteem? Draco imagined he must be terrifying, though he comforted himself with the notion that there was no one quite so terrifying as the Dark Lord himself.

His mother wrote to him frequently, with excessive worry that bled through the pages of her letters, though her word usage was as reserved and careful as ever. She wanted to know how he was doing in his studies—more to the point, she wanted to know precisely how he was faring under Professor Granger's private tutelage. She was fretting over how prepared he really was, and how prepared he would be when all was said and done.

Draco was less worried about that and more concerned with how he was going to survive to graduation at the rate Granger was working him.

He began to observe her more closely as the weeks passed, not only because she was something of a measure of Selenius, but because he was still trying to figure out who she was as a person. Because of the frequency that they met, in addition to the extra homework he had to turn in for his private lessons, he began to notice quite a few things about her. She always had a fresh rose on the desk in her classroom—everyone knew this—but once or twice, he had caught her gazing at it thoughtfully. She wore an extremely old, heavyset ring with an ugly stone that had odd scratches carved into it and a fissure that cut across it, and he suspected she was not wearing it out of vanity. She wore a locket that was normally kept hidden, and he would sometimes catch a glimpse of the chain around her neck. When her eyes flashed, it was as sure a sign of imminent doom as the Headmaster's twinkling gaze was a deceptive display of amusement. When she smiled, the vertical scar on her left cheek— a small souvenir from her fight with the dragon—stood out alarmingly. And she always, always referred to the Dark Lord by his title.

He continued to play chess with Selenius when the first-year was not busy challenging other houses or badgering the other Slytherins, though he kept tight-lipped about the lessons with Professor Granger. Draco had stopped keeping his Head of House up-to-date on his progress, as it seemed that Snape always knew about his lessons before Draco had the chance to inform him himself.

Potter was as obnoxious as ever, and Draco never lost an opportunity to goad him.

"Missing your Mudblood pet, Potter?" he jeered, ramming his elbow into Potter's side as he passed him on the way to Potions. The Chosen One's bag slipped off his arm, spilling onto the floor, and he cursed and bent down to quickly collect his things. Draco made sure to kick an ink bottle aside, as he stepped into the classroom, protected from any retaliation by the timely arrival of his godfather.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, for not being prepared," he drawled, holding the door open as the other students filed inside.

Potter's teeth made an audible grinding sound as he collected the cracked ink bottle and repaired it with a tap of his wand, but made no retort. Weasley was glaring at Snape with a look of utmost revulsion.

Footsteps echoed through the hall, quick-paced, and both Gryffindors wheeled around, half-way through the door as they were, only to be literally shoved aside by the no-nonsense demeanor of an agitated Professor Granger. Snape merely raised an eyebrow at her, questioning her intrusion.

"There's been an incident," she said tightly.

Draco was very nearly surprised that Snape did not protest. Normally, a sneering remark would have been made, perhaps a subtle jibe, but none was forthcoming. He turned to look at Draco. Black eyes met grey, and a cold smile curled on his godfather's lips.

"All of you will turn to page three-hundred and ninety-four of your copies of _Advanced Potion-Making._ I expect to have six inches of parchment on the use—and inherent dangers—of _Felix Felicis…_" He flicked his wand at the board, and the instructions silently copied themselves down, in case anyone had not heard him correctly. "To be collected at the end of class by Mr. Malfoy."

He did not need to warn any of them to behave. The inherent threat was implied.

He swept out of the room a moment later, and Draco resisted the urge to rub his hands together with glee as he considered the non-Slytherins in the room.

All of the color had drained out of Weasley's face. Potter simply looked furious.

~o~O~o~

"It's not a student, is it?" Severus murmured, as they ascended the stairs from the dungeons.

"No, not quite," Hermione said, blinking owlishly as the bright afternoon sunlight filtered into the Entrance Hall. She led him out into the courtyard, and he matched her stride-for-stride as they headed off into the direction of Hagrid's hut. "A student's involved, yes, but he's alright. It's about Charlie."

"Who?"

"Charlie? The dragon Hagrid's adopted?"

"I'd forgotten he'd given the beast a name."

"At least it's not 'Fluffy' this time," Hermione said grimly, as they approached the cabin. The dragon was lying outside, still chained as always, but looking depressed and ill rather than lazily content as he normally did. Snape recognized the boy immediately. Selenius was sitting on the stoop of Hagrid's hut, looking down apprehensively at a cup of tea that Hagrid had clearly offered him while the half-giant was kneeling down beside the ailing beast.

"I can hardly forget Fluffy," Snape sniped as they drew closer. "The quintessential example of Hagrid's talent for misnomers. The beast took a chunk out of my leg."

"I haven't forgotten, dear," Hermione murmured.

"What happened?" Severus demanded of Hagrid, as he took in the ill-looking dragon.

"It wasn' his fault," Hagrid said, sitting up from where he was examining Charlie. The dragon let out a pathetic little snort of sparks. "He came down here ter visit Charlie, and fed 'im summat from his feed bucket—"

"You let the students _hand-feed_ him?" Snape asked in disbelief.

"You're a bit behind the times, dear," Hermione said with a sigh.

"But someone poisoned th' meat," Hagrid continued, as though he had not heard. "I checked meself, after Charlie started lookin' bad. It wasn' Selenius's fault."

The boy did not look up at him, but was staring down determinedly at his tea. If Snape didn't know better, he would have suggested his son was close to tears.

"Who'd want to poison your pet?" Snape asked, toeing the wooden bucket by the stairs that was filled with slabs of red meat. "Never mind that—show me your hands," he snapped, and Selenius nearly dropped his tea as he turned over his palms for his father to inspect.

"I already had him wash 'em," Hagrid said helpfully, much to Hermione's relief. "He hasn' eaten anythin', either."

A moment later and Snape determined that Selenius was fine, before scooping up the handle of the bucket.

"I suppose you want me to brew him an antidote?"

Charlie let out a piteous, gutteral moan.

"If yeh'd hurry, tha' would be much appreciated," Hagrid said, looking anxious.

Without another word, Snape strode off back in the direction of the castle, looking mutinous at being pulled out of class for this. Hermione waited until he was gone, and then bent low over Charlie, examining him.

"Why would someone want to poison him, Hagrid?"

"I don' know," Hagrid said, as Selenius came over to have a look, pale-faced. "He hasn' been botherin' any o' the students, so I don' think it's cos o' that."

"I don't think it's that, either," Hermione said, as the dragon's eyes rolled back into his head. She flicked her wand, transfiguring a nearby stone into an oblong, stone tonfa. She hesitated, and then pried the dragon's mouth open and stuck it inside. Charlie made an awful gagging sound, and after a few moments of wince-inducing probing, regurgitated what looked like half-cooked, half-digested meat onto the grass.

"Charlie's significantly related to the attack on the Hogwarts Express," Hermione said, diving in again, careful to keep her hand out of the way to avoid being burned by the shower of sparks that were emitted from the dragon's mouth. The beast crunched down on the bat, nearly cracking it in half, and then vomited again. "I suspect that's the reason. There's something the Dark Lord doesn't want us to find."

Something glittered on the ground, amidst the digestive juices and upchucked meat. Hermione hesitated, setting down her makeshift gag-inducer, and prodded at it with her wand. It was a smooth, ivory white stone with silver veins swirling out from the center. It glowed faintly in the afternoon sun.

"Hagrid, has he eaten anything he shouldn't have?" Hermione asked, as she passed her wand over it.

"No," Hagrid said, bending down for a better look. "Not aside from th' poison. What's that yeh've got there?"

"I haven't a clue," Hermione said, levitating the stone up to the light for a better look.

Severus returned nearly twenty minutes later with a dried, dusty-looking bezoar, and Hagrid had the privilege of shoving it down the dragon's protesting throat.

"That will hold him until the antidote's ready," Severus said tightly.

Hermione frowned, thinking carefully as the dragon let out a hacking cough, but otherwise seemed to be recovering wind.

"Hagrid, do you ever feed that meat to anything else?"

Hagrid scratched his wiry tangle of a beard, deep in thought. "Ter th' thestrals, but not from tha' bucket."

Hermione stood up.

"Let's check your stores," she suggested.

~o~O~o~

Hagrid's stores were clean, leading Hermione to conclude that the meat had been poisoned while left out, as Hagrid kept it by the side of his hut. It begged the question of _why_, and Hermione did not think it was because of a disgruntled student. The students were largely ambivalent about Charlie's presence, and the dragon had grown surprisingly tame over the months in Hagrid's care—not to mention frequent exposure to Harry and a few of the other Gryffindors who had actually grown a bit fond of the miniature Hebridean Black.

Hermione's suspicions were raised again. Voldemort hadn't been expecting the Ministry to capture or contain Charlie—aside from their sufficient control of the dragon, enough to convince it to attack the train, Charlie was important both as a unique specimen and as a weapon. A dragon that could be controlled, tamed even, was unspeakably valuable—after all, their resistance to magic made them impervious to the Imperius Curse or even the strength of a Killing Curse cast by a single wizard. It was why whoever tried to kill him had chosen to use poison.

They knew why Voldemort had sent Charlie to attack the train, but now they were presented with a new mystery—why kill him?

The stone that Charlie had coughed up seemed to be the answer.

Hermione spent weeks testing the stone's properties. In-between class, she would have it out on her desk, prodding it with her wand or perusing a book or two from the Restricted Section of the library, desperately trying to make a match and identification. The Stone's current properties were quickly distinguished, with results that were very nearly off the charts—if ingested, it absorbed and stored the host's magical energy until it reached its capacity limit. After that, Hermione had no idea what would happen, but she suspected it would undergo a what, however, she did not know. It very closely resembled a Philosopher's Stone, yet it was not one.

The amount of magical energy it had already stored was enormous. What reason Voldemort wanted it for was not precisely clear to her, but Hermione had the slightest gist of it—Voldemort wasn't getting his dragon back, and decided to send someone to fetch the white stone from Charlie, even if it meant killing the dragon. He likely had a plan in mind for using the stone, but as he was not getting it back, Hermione hoped his schemes would come to naught.

And she now had a solid reason for why Bellatrix Lestrange had tried to infiltrate the castle.

She had presented the stone to Professor Dumbledore after first finding it, but the Headmaster told her he was not certain as to what it was. He had a very shrewd idea, he claimed, but it would have to wait until he had done his own private research. He refused to tell her more. Hermione was infuriated.

The weeks passed, and she finally exhausted all of the resources in the school library. It was worse than the time she had tried to find a solution to the Second Task with Harry, back in fourth year. The reservoir of knowledge had failed her. She spent several days Flooing to and from Spinner's End to check their collection there. It was then that she started going through the books in the Headmaster's study.

Scrimgeour had given her a badly-disguised, thin-lipped look of exasperation when she had walked in on his meeting with Dumbledore. She had ignored them both, heading straight to the bookcase and comparing one of the titles to the packet of notes she had brought with her.

"Do you let all of your teachers do this?" he asked, turning to Dumbledore.

"Just Professor Granger, I'm afraid."

"Does she even realize we're here?"

"Likely not," the Headmaster said gravely. "Lemon drop?"

It wasn't noticeable at first, but in the weeks that followed, the entire school grew alarmed when it became clear that Charlie was going through a growth spurt. Hermione immediately understood that the white stone must have retarded Charlie's physical growth—and perhaps mental growth, which would explain the ease with which he was tamed—but that did nothing to help the fact that by the time April rolled around, he had reached twenty feet in length. The ground he covered had become rocky and barren from his increasingly pyrotic experiments, the kind that were common among young adult dragons.

"What on earth are we going to do?" she asked the Headmaster exasperatedly. They were watching Hagrid's sixth-year Care of Magical Creatures lesson from a distance, which essentially meant watching Harry trying to clean the dragon's scales with great difficulty. It didn't help that although Charlie was still surprisingly tame, he was growing increasingly mischievous and playful, which meant that Harry had to watch out in case the dragon decided to snatch him up by the back of his robes as a prank. And more than once, had made a grab for Hagrid's beard, which explained why the ends were extremely charred and sooty. "He's going to be thirty feet by the time school lets out!"

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "We may have to arrange for Charlie Weasley to take him," he said. "Even if his temperament remains manageable…"

"That's another thing, Headmaster," Hermione said flatly. "His temperament is _not_ manageable."

As if to prove her point, Harry suddenly left out a yelp as the dragon caught him from behind, flipping him into the air. He landed on his back on top of Charlie's head, scrambling quickly for a handhold. The dragon shook his head slightly, causing Harry to slide off and thump to the ground.

"I mean, at least he hasn't turned Harry into The Chosen Flamb_é_, but this is not my definition of 'manageable'!"

Understandably, the students were also asking questions, but Hermione put them off with the blithe excuse that she knew no more than they did. Severus was also extremely curious about the stone, but he actively avoided having a look himself, as he was having enough difficulty convincing the Dark Lord that he had not seen it while the dragon was upchucking. Voldemort had already found out about Charlie's unexpected increase in size and so very obviously knew that it must have been found.

Hagrid's house had also been broken into, a few weeks after the white stone had been found, and it was clear that whoever had searched it had not found what they were looking for. They had clearly left in a rage, for Hagrid's place had been so obviously ransacked, and Fang had to be dragged out from underneath Hagrid's bed when the half-giant had returned to find the state his home was in.

"It's madness isn't it," Hermione murmured to her husband one evening. She had coaxed him into lying back on the bed and relaxing, enough for her to straddle him and kiss a trail down from his neck to his chest, all while she reasoned with herself out loud. "And I still have no idea what we're going to do with Charlie—he's probably too tame for Romanian wilderness now. Too used to people. He'll be a nuisance to the local population…"

"I'd rather not discuss that right now," the man beneath her muttered, running the one calloused hand through her hair and tracing the scar on her cheek with the other. He twined a lock around one finger, and gave it a slight tug. "Can't I ever get a moment with you where your mind isn't scattered a thousand miles in each direction?"

"Yes," Hermione whispered, nuzzling his nose with hers.

"Prove it."

And to his delight, she did.

* * *

**Please review!**

**-Anubis**


	20. Chapter 21

**A/N: It doesn't feel like a Monday, does it? Anyway, there's a distinct possibility I'll post another chapter on Wednesday, since this one's so short.**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

**Please review!**

* * *

Exams were soon hanging over their heads, just a mere three weeks away, but Hermione was still distracted by the mystery of the stone. Thursday evening, in the last lesson she had scheduled with Draco before giving him time off to properly study for exams, she was sitting at her desk in the classroom, comparing the stone to diagrams she'd found in one Dumbledore's personal collection of books. The Headmaster had still not said a word, but Hermione felt she was slowly circling the answer: the stone was an important Alchemic element.

At a half past five, Severus slipped inside and walked over to her desk, where she was busily comparing diagrams.

"I've figured it out," he said quietly, summoning himself a chair and taking a seat beside her. "Bellatrix mentioned it at the last meeting—what she meant to retrieve was the Stone."

"What is it?" Hermione whispered, looking up at him.

"It's a Philosopher's Stone all over again," Severus murmured, picking up the stone and turning it over in his hand. "Albeit a lesser version of it."

Hermione gaped at him. "But how…"

"White makes silver, red makes gold. The white stone is a lesser version of the red," Severus continued, setting the Stone back down. "You know this, of course."

"Yes," Hermione agreed, looking crestfallen that the answer had been sitting in front of her the entire time, and she had completely overlooked it. "I should have seen it…"

"In this case, the one recovered from Charlie is an incomplete version of the white stone—enough information let slip at that meeting that I was able to put the pieces together. The Dark Lord fed the stone to a stolen MacFusty dragon to try and mature it." He paused to let this sink in. "I suspect that upon discovering the side effects of the Stone, the Dark Lord decided to use him to attack the train in order to collect Hufflepuff's Cup. The plan was to overturn the Hogwarts Express, and have an Imperiused member of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes squad retrieve the Horcrux. And if the opportunity presented itself, kidnap Potter. Ingenious, really."

Hermione realized now that she couldn't have seen this coming. No one, aside from those who had actually succeeded, knew how to make a Philosopher's Stone. Books rarely focused on the numerous failed attempts, and spent more time lauding the scarce successes. She couldn't have reasonably known what an incomplete Philosopher's Stone looked like. This also explained to her why Scrimgeour had been reluctant to have Charlie disposed of. Hermione had no doubt the MacFusty clan—a wizarding family that took responsibility for the dragons that resided within the Hebrides Isles—were furious at the theft, and Scrimgeour was understandably trying to work things out with them behind the scenes.

It further explained Charlie's tameness. The MacFusty clan took excellent care of their dragons.

"But where would they have gotten this?" Hermione breathed. "No one knows how to make a Philosopher's Stone! The knowledge died with Nicholas Flamel—"

"Flamel had a lot of failed experiments," Severus declared silkily. "Plenty of half-baked attempts at making a Philosopher's Stone, most of them useless, before he finally got it right. I suspect he gave this one to someone else as a souvenir or a gift. That the Dark Lord got hold of it and decided to try and complete it for himself."

"His own Philosopher's Stone," Hermione whispered. "But why? He doesn't need it for immortality."

"No. But it's a reservoir of magical energy that can perform feats we can only dream of," Severus said in an undertone. "He has his horcruxes; extending his life is no longer his greatest concern. But even the white Philosopher's stone has the ability to augment a wizard's power, transmute silver, or create golems or clones."

"Clones," Hermione murmured. "What kind of Dark Lord would want multiples of himself?"

"A very stupid one. I vote we let him do it, and exterminate himself."

"Very funny," she said, allowing herself a smirk. "But aside from that, it can be used to power normal spells—and if not normal, at least ones that any wizard with the right knowledge and power can cast. It could amplify it."

"He could take over the Ministry with it."

"Yes, he has been trying that for some time, hasn't he?" Hermione said, sounding amused.

"At any rate, the Stone's useless to him as well as us in its current form," Severus declared. "It's another half-baked attempt—Charlie would probably have to ingest it for another year for it to be of any use to us." He paused. "The Dark Lord was content to allow the dragon to keep it, even while under Hagrid's care, until he came across a text that suggested human sacrifice would speed up the Stone's maturation."

The hair on Hermione's back suddenly stood on end.

"No," she said sharply.

"Without the Stone, the Dark Lord has no reason to make such sacrifices," Severus said evenly. "As long as you keep it hidden safe away from him—perhaps you ought to destroy it, even—any potential victims are safe. From that fate, at least."

"I'll bring it up with the Headmaster," Hermione said, resting her cheek on his shoulder. "I suspect he'll dissuade me from destroying it, but if he has a plan in mind for how—or why—to use it, then I may consider it first."

Severus bent over her, curling an arm around her shoulder and pressing his lips to the top of her head. "I agree," he whispered.

Hermione lifted up her head to kiss him. "Good job on finding out what it is," she praised quietly, and then looked at her watch.

"You'd better go… Draco will be here at any moment…"

Without another word, Severus stood up. Hermione watched him leave, feeling relief bubble up as she glanced back down at the incomplete Stone before her.

Draco arrived scant seconds later, and their session began.

~o~O~o~

"Thank Merlin we don't have NEWTs until next year," Ron groaned, as Hermione quizzed them both on Potions. They were both scraping by the class with barely an Acceptable or Exceeds Expectation, but knew they would need a solid pass to take the seventh-year class, and between going to Snape for help and going to Hermione—well, it wasn't a difficult decision. "Maybe I should quit Potions. There's no way I'm going to pass this."

"Stop being melodramatic," Hermione said lazily, flipping through Ron's copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ and making a few notes here and there. "I know you're perfectly capable when you put your mind to it."

"Maybe, if I wasn't taking four other classes," Ron said glumly.

"Don't complain, I've got five, and I still have to pass the Ministry's seventh-year exam for Care of Magical Creatures next year," Harry said, not looking up from his Potions book.

"I reckon you're doomed, mate. At least I have a chance."

Hermione laughed. "That's the spirit!"

"And Scrimgeour wants me to make a statement, once school's out," Harry added casually, but Hermione could see his eyes had stopped moving across the page. "Poster-boy and all. As if I ever wanted more publicity."

"Then why'd you agree to it?" Ron asked.

"Because he's right. People are panicked, and the Ministry's actually being somewhat competent—it's the least I can do." Harry looked at Ron. "You'd better be there too, mate. I'm not going alone."

"Who'd listen to me?" Ron joked, but he seemed to brighten a bit at not being left out of the loop. "Anyway, that's still a month away, there's still a chance the Ministry will end up pants-on-head again…"

"Not with Hermione pulling the strings," Harry said, with a strained sort of smile.

Aside from the flurry of activity caused by panicked, last-minute studying, the castle was relatively quiet. Severus's Dark Mark flared only once in the three weeks leading up to the exams.

"He's planning something, as usual," he said bitterly, tearing off his mask upon his return and tossing it to the floor. "He has several machinations going at once, and he's furious that most of them have already failed—retrieving Hufflepuff's Cup, recovering the Philosopher's Stone… Nott's set his son up for this, they're planning another infiltration."

"What for?" Hermione asked, rising to her feet, Notebook in one hand.

"I don't know, but whatever it is, they're certain you have it." Severus gave her a tired look. "In all probability, it's the Stone. The students have seen you fussing with it between classes, and I honestly have no idea where you keep it." He sneered. "But if they simply wanted me to retrieve the Stone, they wouldn't be doing this. This is merely a diversion. No plans have been finalized yet, but I'm expected to await my signal, to assist where I can, and maintain my cover by whatever it takes." Severus collapsed into one of the armchairs, as began removing his Death Eater garb. "Do feel free to fetch me a Firewhiskey, I could certainly use one tonight."

"Before or after the exams?" Hermione asked, retrieving an unopened bottle of Ogden's that she kept in the cabinet.

"I'm not yet certain."

"I'll inform the Headmaster, and we'll have to exercise some extra diligence," Hermione said, tapping the cork with her wand, causing it to shoot free. She summoned a glass, and poured out the dark, amber liquid to a few finger-widths. She capped the bottle and then offered him the drink, which he took gratefully. "I think Proudfoot can be trusted to know, and we'll have Tonks and Kingsley on patrol. The rest of the Order will be on-call."

"And the Stone?" Severus asked, taking a sip of the burning liquid.

"Safely hidden," Hermione assured him, reaching for her Notebook to make a final notation. She fiddled with the dial on her wristwatch for a moment. "I'll be right back."

There was a yank behind her navel as the wristwatch Portkeyed her away, where she appeared in the Headmaster's office, spinning in place until she regained her bearings and took a step toward his desk.

"I suppose you have news for me, Hermione?" Dumbledore asked, sitting back in his chair with a copy of the _Evening Prophet._

Hermione helped herself to a seat. "The Dark Lord's preparing to make a move." She laced her fingers together. "His declared target is the Stone, but Severus suspects he's after something else."

"I see," Dumbledore said, lowering the newspaper to gaze at Hermione with expectant curiosity. "And what do you think?"

Hermione chewed her lower lip thoughtfully for a moment. "I believe he's right," she said slowly. "There are quieter ways the Dark Lord could go after me to try and retrieve the Stone. But that would have to wait until after I left Hogwarts for the summer, which leads me to believe there is something else that he wants… here. Getting the stone would just be a bonus, at this point."

"Interesting deduction," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard. "And what do you hypothesize this to be?"

Hermione paused.

"I've had no luck locating Ravenclaw's Diadem," she admitted quietly, "but I'm convinced it's at the school. Tom Riddle must have found where it was hidden, when Ravenclaw's daughter originally stole it, but I believe he brought it back here when he came to ask for a job. But I haven't yet found where it's hidden now, in the castle… and, of course, it's another chance to go after Harry," she added blithely. "He's likely hoping to catch us all off-guard—I imagine the idea of storming Hogwarts to kill Harry appeals to him greatly."

"Not a very Slytherin move, is it?" Dumbledore murmured.

"His primary reasons for coming are subtler, I admit, but the Dark Lord we know has always appreciated grand gestures," Hermione said with a faint half-smile. "That hasn't changed."

"No, it has not," Dumbledore agreed. He sat up a bit straighter in his chair. "And where do you plan to hide the Stone when he comes?"

Hermione raised her finger to her lips, tracing them thoughtfully.

"I do have a very shrewd idea," she said slowly.

~o~O~o~

When she returned to her quarters, it was to find that Severus had drained a second glass and finally gotten around to kicking off one of his shoes, and was bent over to take care of the other. Hermione laid a hand on his shoulder to stop him, coaxing him to sit up, and then knelt down and began untying his boot.

"What did Dumbledore say?" Severus asked quietly.

"He's not surprised, and frankly, neither am I," Hermione said, pulling off the shoe and rubbing his sock-covered foot. He leaned back with a sigh at this, and she slowly peeled it off, lifting his foot so that she could kiss it. His eyes, which had drooped a bit, flew open at this. Hermione set his right foot down, and did the same with his left. "We'll just have to get through it, as usual. And this time, we have warning, and a plan."

"I don't suppose I'm to be let in on it," Severus murmured.

"Tit for tat, husband," Hermione said, massaging the instep of his foot. He sighed at this. "When you find out a bit more information on what they're doing, we'll know where to put you."

"This time, I would appreciate if it did not end up with me knocked out in the Shrieking Shack."

"I'll do my best," Hermione promised mischievously, but her smile was warm as she moved to straddle his lap and began working on the buttons of the white shirt he wore underneath his robes.

"And preferably something that does not resemble last year's fiasco at Malfoy Manor."

"I hope not," Hermione whispered, pulling his shirt open and nibbling on his chest. He sighed again, lifting his chin and turning his head to the side to give her more access as she worked her way up. His hands came to lightly rest on her neck, and one thumb lazily traced the scar across her left cheek. "I plan to use this as an opportunity to find Ravenclaw's Horcrux, now that the Dark Lord is attempting to salvage the ones he has left. I have no intention of being tied up and used as bait again."

Severus let out a huff of subdued laughter. "It still shocks me that you agreed to that."

"Anything for you," Hermione breathed into his ear, holding him close to her.

"Even sacrificing your life to maintain my cover?" Severus asked morosely, brushing her hair out of her face so he could see her better.

"I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to be your handler."

After that, talking ceased. Little by little, they managed to worm each other out of their clothes, enough so that when Severus nudged her into turning around so that her bare, ever so lightly marred back was presented to him, he could spoon her against his chest, kissing and nibbling on her throat as he steadily paced their coupling. Sighs and the sound of hitched breathing filled the room, full of promise and stolen contentment. He might have whispered to her, if he could have thought of something to say; she might have done the same, if she were not so equally lost for words. But they had forgotten discourse. Their eyes were closed now, with the sort of enjoyment that only came when their worries were temporarily melted away, and when they found pleasure together.

It was in these moments that they were vulnerable. Times where Hermione surrendered the control she normally fought to maintain with all of the force and cunning she possessed, and allowed herself to be utterly open and defenseless. Rare occurrences in which Severus let his defenses drop entirely, in which his expressions and intentions were laid bare and the quiet fear and trepidation he suppressed each day could be seen reflected in his eyes. When it became clear that he was the center of her world—the maker and master of it. When it was painfully obvious that he possessed an intense sort of adoration for her that could not quite be put into words. A scarce moment when they no longer struggled to keep their true selves carefully repressed and concealed for their respective roles.

His arms locked tightly around her waist as he came, and she squeezed him deliberately, drawing it out; moments later, still sunken in a state of lassitude, he reached a hand around to finish her off, causing her to come apart with a lazy, practiced hand. He would spend the minutes breathing slowly and deeply to try and calm his pounding heart, while she would send it thumping faster by twisting her head to the side to suckle on the underside of his throat. They were, in some respects, two perfectly opposing forces that cancelled out in the most pleasurable way possible.

And then she buried her face in his chest.

"Let's never leave," she murmured.

"Sorry, love," her husband replied hoarsely, stroking her back with a single finger. The Dark Mark, which Hermione often tried to mentally block out when they were intimate, stood out starkly against his pale forearm, as if to remind them that they were never truly free. "The world, it seems, does not work that way."

* * *

**Please review!**

**~Anubis**


	21. Chapter 22

**A/N: Here we go. A Wednesday update.**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

**Please review!**

* * *

Harry was awoken by the sound of a loud, thunderous roar that echoed across the grounds. He bolted up in bed, and for a moment, wondered if he had perhaps merely dreamt it—but shoving aside the hangings around his bed, he realized he was not the only one. The rest of his roommates were also up, wide-eyed and terrified.

A second, bellowed roar could be heard, and the castle seemed to rumble ever so slightly.

"That sounds like Charlie!" Harry said, scrambling to get out of bed.

"What's going on?" Dean asked sleepily.

Ron was the first at the window.

"Harry… I think you'd better take a look at this…"

"What is it?" Harry demanded, shoving his glasses onto his face.

And then he saw.

In the distance, Charlie had taken to the air, the end of the broken chain dangling from his neck. The sky appeared to be aflame, until Harry realized with alarm it was the fire and smoke pouring from the edge of the Forbidden Forest. White-hot flames shot out of the black dragon's mouth, lighting up the sky with blinding light. Someone was clinging to his back, but a moment later, the dragon had twisted his neck around in mid-flight and ripped the person off with a sharp yank of his mouth.

Neville, Dean, and Seamus were crowded around them now, peering where they could for a better look.

"Harry!" Neville jabbed his finger at the ground, where the stone circle preceding the path to Hagrid's could be seen. A familiar figure was racing in the dark, brown hair flying wildly behind her. And she wasn't alone—Harry hadn't noticed them at first, because they blended in so well with the darkness, but now he glimpsed their silvery death-masks. "Look—Death Eaters!"

The dragon was circling over Hagrid's house now, and Harry saw him shoot another round of white flames, this time at the ground, causing the Death Eaters below to scatter. A shriek pierced the air as one of them didn't get out of the way in time, and the boys' eyes widened in amazement and terror as the man fell to the ground, tearing off his cloak and stamping his foot to try and extinguish it.

In the distance, they heard Fang barking, still locked in his house. Now Hermione was within range, and Harry saw her hiding behind the boulders of the Stone Circle to conceal herself, she could be seen bent down low, peering around the corner. And then she disappeared, her form melting away into the night. Harry assumed she must have Disillusioned herself.

And then she ambushed them. Bright purple light struck one of the Death Eaters, causing him to sink to the ground. Another tore off her mask, revealing black hair almost as wild as Hermione's, and dodged a jet of sickly yellow light by a hair's breath. They began to duel, Bellatrix clearly attempting to identify Hermione's whereabouts from the direction her spells came from, while the other Death Eaters used the opportunity to rush past, heading straight for the school. A spell struck one of the fleeing Death Eaters from behind, felling him, but there were too many for Hermione to get all at once while still guarding her back from Bellatrix.

"They're heading here," Neville said, his voice unusually high.

"So is Charlie," Seamus said, pointing upwards.

And so he was. The dragon was following the Death Eaters now, swooping down low in an attempt to breathe fire on them, but they all scattered and ducked. Two of them turned their wands on the pursuing dragon, but to no effect, as not enough of them appeared willing to unite and risk their lives for a chance to take out the fiery predator.

"We've got to stop them," Harry said determinedly.

He ran from the room. Ron was hot on his heels, as was Neville.

"Oi, you can't be serious!" Seamus bellowed from the top of the banister as the three of them headed down the stairs.

"You can come with us if you like," Ron called back.

"You're crazy!"

But a moment later, both he and Dean were following them. They were about to make it to the portrait hole when another voice stopped them.

"Wait!" Selenius could be seen coming to a stop at the foot of the stairs, nearly tripping over the last step in his haste. "I'm coming with you!"

At the other staircase leading up to the girls' dormitory, Ginny arrived at that moment as well.

All five of the older boy stared at the first-year in disbelief.

"No effing way…" Ron said.

"We don't have time for this," Harry said. "Selenius, you have to stay here—"

"Mu—Professor Granger's dueling out there!" Selenius said, very nearly slipping up, but he caught himself in time. "And the rest are coming! I can help!"

"No, you can't," Ron said.

Selenius's jaw set, and Harry saw something in his eyes gleam almost dangerously, much in the same way Hermione's did. It was like seeing an amalgamation of Hermione and Snape standing in front of him, and for a moment, he wondered how Dean and Seamus couldn't see it. The same slight lift of the lips into a snarl, that narrowing of his eyes. His father's sneer, his mother's dangerous glint. He was angry, Harry could tell, and this was about to escalate.

"You can't stop me," he said quietly.

All five of the sixth-years turned to look at each other, and then raised their wands.

And then Harry saw Ginny take aim from behind.

"_Petrificus Totalus!"_

The first-year suddenly froze, stiff and rigid as a board, a look of ugly surprise on his face. And then he slowly toppled over and hit the floor, completely motionless, entirely taken off-guard. Another spell, and thick ropes had wrapped themselves tightly around his prone body, ensuring he would stay there once the _Petrificus_ spell had worn off. Ginny stepped over him as she walked toward the portrait hole.

"That's why you can't come," she said coolly, though she looked ever so slightly apologetic. "Sorry."

She turned to the rest of them.

"Let's go," she declared. "I've already contacted the rest of the DA. Luna and Susan are coming."

There was a sudden, enormous crash; Harry heard the gong of the Clock Tower as the bells attached to it shook violently, and then there was an almighty roar.

"Charlie!" Harry said, shoving open the portrait. "I'll go take care of him—the rest of you, don't let the Death Eaters into the castle!"

"Death Eaters?" The Fat Lady could be heard repeating in alarm, as they climbed through. "Violet, did you hear that?"

"I'll send word to the Headmaster!" Violet asserted, skipping over into the next frame.

Harry ignored her, and instead began climbing the stairs leading toward the giant clock that kept time for all of Hogwarts. He craned his neck in time to see Ron leading the way to the Entrance Courtyard, just underneath the clock tower, where the Death Eaters were undoubtedly making their way. He saw Luna join them shortly after, with Susan Bones following close behind.

Harry reached the next landing and then ran through the door, opening up to the wooden platforms and staircases that made up the tower, with a system of pulleys and ropes interwoven into them. Harry grabbed hold of one of them, and pointed at the attached weight resting atop the tower.

"_Accio!"_

The weight flew toward him, causing the rope to yank upward sharply. Harry ducked as the weight flew toward him, smacking into the wall behind him, and held on tightly as the rope carried him up several flights of stairs.

Through the gaps in between the beams, Harry could see jets of flame striking part of the courtyard. It blocked off the archways on either side, forcing the Death Eaters to keep their distance and not quite step foot into the courtyard. Proudfoot and Mipsy were already there, and Harry heard him try to order the students back inside, but with his focus on the Death Eaters, he couldn't force them to and they refused to listen to him.

There was a loud _clunk_ as the second weight just above Harry hit the pulley that blocked it from going further, and Harry leapt off, running up the last flight of stairs. Charlie was clinging to the other side of the clock, though the glass face had shattered in several places. Harry carefully stepped through one of the holes, and narrowly ducked a swipe by Charlie's tail as he scrambled for something to hold onto.

"Charlie!" he bellowed. "It's me!"

The dragon stopped writhing in place, neck twisting around the look at Harry. His mouth opened, and for a moment, Harry was afraid he was about to be roasted—but then the dragon let out a pleased guttural sound that Harry had learned to recognize, and nudged him in the shoulder in greeting. Harry grabbed the spiked around his head, dangling from them he was lifted up.

Harry swung himself onto the dragon's back, patting him in relief as he peered down at the courtyard below, and then back at Charlie, who was swinging his neck from side to side. It was then Harry realized why Charlie was still here—the chain was wrapped around the post that both of the clock hands were attached to. He was stuck.

Harry lifted his wand.

"_Diffindo!"_

The chain snapped. With a triumphant roar, the dragon pushed off, spreading his wings and diving down below. Harry grabbed the harness and what was left of the chain, hoping against hope that he could steer. A yank to the left, and to his surprise, Charlie banked in that direction, opening his mouth to spew more of his threatening white-hot flames near the bridge that proceeded the courtyard. Harry had only ever seen him breathe red fire, but now he supposed that since Charlie was seriously trying to burn them all, hiking up the heat to another notch made sense. He just hadn't considered it possible.

The flames turned blue a few moments after impact, and he saw one of the Death Eaters hastily back away as a fireball landed inches away from his feet, and let out a yelp of surprise as it exploded into blue-bell flames. And then the flames were forced the part, as one of the Death Eaters enspelled them away from the entrance to the courtyard while others tried to extinguish them with water, and they charged through.

Harry couldn't hope to aim his wand, as he was already holding onto Charlie for dear life. A moment later, he saw Hermione coming up behind the Death Eaters. While Proudfoot and the others held them at bay on the steps, Hermione took two of them down silently before they realized they had an enemy at their back. Her eyes lifted up to Harry, and Harry saw them widen in shock as she realized that Charlie had a rider. And then her attention was diverted back to dodging and ducking, but in the bright fire-light, Harry was sure he saw her grinning.

One of the Death Eaters aimed a spell, not at Proudfoot or the others, but at the castle itself. A chunk of debris broke off, followed by others the size of Harry's head.

"Look out!" he bellowed.

He saw the others scatter off to the side as it came crashing down. The Death Eaters forced their way through the opening, and Charlie shrieked before letting lose a jet of white flames in their wake, but it was too late.

"_No!"_

Harry saw Hermione charged in after them, leaping over the rubble and coming dangerously close to the flames. Proudfoot was on his feet, immediately dueling the nearest Death Eater who had not made it past them, but Ginny, Luna, and Neville all ran inside to stop the ones who had gotten through.

"Land!" Harry ordered, pulling on the chain, hoping the dragon understood him. "Land, Charlie! The ground—get on the ground!"

Whether it was because he understood Harry or coincidentally had the same idea in mind, the dragon swooped low. He deliberately crashed through one of the archways, collapsing it with his enormous bulk before skidding to a halt in the center of the courtyard. Six-inch gashes were left in his wake, tearing up the stone beneath him. He shook his frightful head and then lashed out at the nearest Death Eater, lifting the startled man into the air by the back of his robes. They were all still dueling now, seven masked enemies to five people frantically trying to stop the rest of them from entering the castle.

Charlie snapped the unfortunate man into the air, and there was scream followed by a sickening _crunch_. Harry quickly slid off, trying to ignore the blood dripping from Charlie's mouth as he came to stand in front of the dragon. A severed hand fell to the ground, and Harry did his best to avoid taking a step back in nauseating disgust as the dragon bent down to lick it up.

"Go back to Hagrid's," he said, trying to get the enormous beast to understand him. The dragon cocked a blood-stained head at him. "Hagrid's—go to Hagrid's," Harry said, pointing at the Forbidden Forest in the distance. "Hagrid's," he repeated, hoping he didn't sound like an idiot trying to talk to a dragon.

Charlie reared up, and a moment later, with a powerful rush of wings, had taken flight. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, and then hastily ducked as a jet of green light flew over his head. He leapt back up, climbing over the debris on the ground to join the others.

"_Stupefy!"_ he yelled, catching Dolohov from behind.

Charlie was useful to have around, but Harry was certain that it was by sheer luck—and, perhaps, the fact that Charlie was so used to the students and considered them a part of Hogwarts—that none of his friends had been hurt yet. No matter how small ("Not anymore," a part of his mind reminded him) or tame Charlie seemed, he was still a dragon, which were by their very nature frighteningly unpredictable creatures. Right now, Charlie was protecting his turf from unfamiliar invaders—Harry had learned that much about dragon behavior from his time in Care of Magical Creatures. He wasn't trying to _save_ the students out of some goodness of his reptilian heart. He just wanted the Death Eaters out of his castle, and he considered the students to be part of his territory—that didn't mean he would be above roasting them if it meant getting the wizards encroaching on his land.

If Harry let Charlie stay, he was certain the dragon would have tried to get into the castle itself, and he wasn't sure letting a twenty-nine-foot-long fire-breathing reptile do that was the best of all possible plans.

He saw McGongall appear in the doorway a moment later, followed by Professor Flitwick. And then, at long last, Dumbledore stepped into view his wand raised, emanating such power that the Death Eaters attempting to force a second way into the castle withdrew in fear. Trusting that they had this well in hand, Harry ran past them, charging after the Death Eaters who had made it through.

~o~O~o~

Hermione followed Bellatrix's heels in hot pursuit, the other woman attempting to aim at her over her shoulder as they chased through the castle. At one point, Hermione cornered her at a dead end, causing them to fall into a fast and furious duel until Bellatrix managed to slip past, and Hermione followed again.

Hermione let out a shriek of rage when she realized that three seventh years who were in the middle of their Astronomy exams had come down to see what was happening. She skidded to a half, putting herself between Bellatrix and the students while the stood there, gaping at them.

"_Get out!"_

They fled at the command, and Bellatrix let out a cackle.

"Still protecting the students as always, I see—"

Hermione heard footsteps behind her again, and wheeled around in time to see Severus arrive. Understanding dawned on her—he had been charged with the task of escorting the students back to their dormitories. No wonder they looked terrified, they had only been doing as they were told, and picking between obeying Severus Snape and getting between a duel by Professor Granger and Bellatrix Lestrange was the worst of all possible options.

"Warrington, take the other students through the other route," he ordered quickly, and Hermione saw one of the Slytherin seventh-years hovering behind him wheel around and disappear up the next flight of stairs. Snape took a step forward. "Now, for this…"

Bellatrix's eyes narrowed, though her wand was still pointed at Hermione. "What are you going to do now, Snape?" she asked, eyes flaring with dangerous, demented glee. "You're finally going to have to make a choice!"

Without a moment's hesitation, Severus pointed his wand, not at Bellatrix, but at Hermione.

"_Stupefy."_

The rush of red light approached her so quickly that when Hermione ducked, it missed her by a hair's breadth. Bellatrix let out another shriek of delight, and the next moment, had turned on her heel and was running for the stairs.

"No!" Hermione roared, but was prevented from pursing by being forced to dodge another spell. "Goddamn it—_Stupefy!"_

Severus easily side-stepped her, crouching into a dueling stance as Hermione was finally forced to give him her full attention.

"Why?" she whispered, as they stood to a standstill. "Why does it always have to come to this?"

"It's the nature of the beast," he said, his voice so quiet she could barely hear him. A loud _bang _echoed through the hall, as a nearby knight shattered into a million brilliant gleaming shards, and then transfigured themselves into daggers, all flying straight for her.

Hermione pursed her lip, but it was understood—talk was overrated and over. She flicked her wand, transfiguring the daggers into a single entity again, only this time it was in the shape of a giant metal lioness, which launched itself at Severus—

He twisted his hand into an arc, and it dissolved into a cloud of dust; a jet of red light flew at her from within, and Hermione deflected it before diving forward with a blast of fire from the tip of her wand.

It struck the wall behind him, setting one of the paintings alight; Hermione watched in horror as the screaming occupants were forced to flee to the surrounding paintings, and Severus gave her a disgusted look, though was quickly forced to dodge as she sent another blast at him.

They danced around each other, neither able to flee nor allowing the other to run, and went directly for each other's throats. Hermione was defending herself against deadly spells, her scarred face contorted into a snarl as a _secumsempra_ nicked her side. She retaliated with a Choking Spell, and for a moment, she thought she had him; he was lifted two feet off the ground with his back to the wall and gripping at invisible hands on his throat, struggling to breathe—but then he recovered himself long enough to fire back at her, holding her at bay while he dismantled the spell.

He fell to the floor, panting and massaging his bruised throat, and Hermione struck.

"_Petrificus totalus!"_

He waited until the last possible moment to duck, leading Hermione to believe for a split moment that perhaps it had struck—and then he nimbly rolled to the side and simultaneously took aim.

"_Stupefy!"_

A bolt of light struck her head on, coloring her vision in red, and then the split moment of impending blackness rushed upon her as she hit the ground.

~o~O~o~

If one could see through Disillusionment charms, they would have seen Harry bent low in front of the tapestry to the Room of Requirement as Bellatrix disappeared through the door, waiting for her to reappear. If his plan was to swoop in and steal the Horcrux from Bellatrix, he needed to remain Disillusioned and perfectly still, so as to ambush her when she finally reappeared.

With the Stone firmly in his pocket, he knew he had a back-up plan if this failed to work. He knew Bellatrix—knew that she would see more immediate value in the Philosopher's Stone than in whatever unremarkable object the Dark Lord had seen fit to stuff his soul into. He mentally counted the minutes as they silently ticked by and then—when it had begun nearing forty-five minutes since Bellatrix had disappeared into the room—he reached into his robes and took out the decorative flask Hermione had given him for Christmas years ago, and uncapped it.

He dropped several fine black hairs he had been holding onto into it, and the thick, muddy liquid within bubbled and turned gold—an odd color for such an unpleasant potion, but he took a swig regardless before stuffing it back into his robes.

The door opened at long last, and Bellatrix emerged, looking triumphant. Severus flicked his wand at her, and—just as he had hoped—she didn't see the jet of light waiting for her. She fell the ground with a muted thud, and for a moment, Severus considered if he should just kill her—it was such a delightful opportunity to get her out of the way—but he had already reasoned his way out of it while cobbling together his plan. If she was gone, he would have the Dark Lord's ear, but his methods of elimination were too similar to Hermione's, and no matter what he tried, they would be too clean. His only option would be to stun her and throw her over a railing, staging it as an accident. But even so, he would surely be seen.

He rummaged through her pockets, searching, searching—

His hands closed around something, and he pulled it out. The diadem gleamed in the torchlight, and he turned it over in his hands in wonder as he finally understood what it was.

_Wit beyond measure is a man's greatest treasure._

"_Gemino,_" he murmured, and a double appeared. He slipped it into Bellatrix's robes, precisely where he had found it before, and got to his feet. He began dragging her across the hall, toward the stairs, stopping for a moment to listen for footsteps, and then propped her upright. He tapped her forehead with the tip of his wand, muttering the Memory-Charm spell, and then pointed at her chest.

"_Ennervate."_

He was flying down the stairs before her eyes fluttered open, as fast as Potter's legs would carry him. He flew with all the speed he could muster, nearly tripping over the staircase as it shifted beneath his feet. And then he was running down the corridor where he had left Hermione, and quickly knelt down beside her. He had left her propped up against the wall as well, her head bent over her chest, eyes closed. He lifted up her chin, pointing his wand at her neck.

"_Ennervate!"_ he whispered.

Her eyes flew open almost immediately and she jerked in place, kicking him in the shins before realizing who it was. "I—I—Harry?" she asked faintly.

He held a finger to his lips, and shook his head before reaching into his pocket for the diadem. He pressed it into her hands, and her eyes widened.

"Take care of it in the Headmaster's Office." He squeezed her hand. "I have another ten minutes before the Polyjuice wears off—I must hide until then."

"Right," she said, struggling to her feet. She fixed him with a narrowed gaze. "You do realize you neglected to tell me that you had this plan in the works."

He gave her a slight smirk, one that looked very wrong on Harry's face. And then he stood up, and was about to leave when Harry—the real Harry—rounded the corner.

For a moment, the two of them stood face to face. Harry's wand immediately whipped out, pointing straight at Severus—but then he saw Hermione shake her head, and slowly lowered it as his twin approached.

Severus held up the Stone, turning it over for Harry to see, and then stuffed it into Harry's hands. The Boy Who Lived fumbled with it in surprise as his physical double stalked off.

"Was that…" Hermione nodded, and he pointed at Severus's retreating back. "That was really…" she let out a muted huff of laughter as she got to her feet, and he turned around to glare at Snape before demanding, "How did he get some of my hair?"

"Never mind that now," Hermione said, slowly getting to her feet. "Harry, where are the rest of the Death Eaters?"

"Most of them are outside," Harry said grimly, pocketing the Stone. "More arrived, but the ones already here were forced back outside—I came to find you, we need you down there."

"I need to take care of this first," Hermione prioritized, holding up the Diadem.

A sudden cry reverberated through the corridor, as Neville skidded to a halt at the other end.

"Harry!" he panted. "Harry, they're—they're leaving!"

"What?" Hermione demanded.

"Bellatrix ran out and told them to go—they got what they came for—they're running away!"

Harry looked at Hermione, who was clutching the diadem tightly.

"No," he said slowly, a smile spreading across his face as he realized with delight what had just happened. "They didn't."

Snape intersected them, fully himself again, just as they were rushing down the stairs to watch the last of the Death Eaters go. They were running past Hagrid's house and toward the Whomping Willow, ducking Charlie's flame in their wake. One of them was knocked over by the tree's swinging branches before it was frozen with the trick-knot, and in the distance, Proudfoot and Kingsley could be seen in hot pursuit while Tonks and Remus walked back, carrying a half-walking half-stumbling form between them.

"It looks like Bill got hurt," Neville said, not noticing the man behind him as they stepped out into the courtyard. "Fenrir was here, I saw him go after—" he looked behind him, and let out a squeak of terror when he realized who it was. "P-Professor Snape!"

Snape ignored him. "We ought to do a sweep of the castle," Harry heard him mutter to Hermione in an undertone. "Make sure none of them are lying in wait…"

"That sounds like something they'd do," Hermione agreed quietly.

She held up her wrist and began fiddling with her watch.

"I'll check for them on my way back. I have something to do first."

There was an audible _pop_, and she spun away.

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**Please review!**

**-Anubis**


	22. Chapter 23 & 24

**A/N: *yawn* Good morning at this ungodly hour. Combining chapters 23 and 24 to make a decent-length update.**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

**Please review!**

* * *

Hermione found later, after she was shaken awake from where she lay slumped on the floor of the Headmaster's office, about the final outcome of the battle. Bill Weasley was still in the hospital wing from having his face torn up by Fenrir Greyback, but he was certain to be alright. Others had minor injuries. Seamus Finnegan came away with nothing more than a broken nose. The Ministry had arrived long before the Death Eaters fled, but they were all distracted by the Death Eaters they had been attempting to pursue. Some were captured. Three were killed—one by fire, two from being eaten by a dragon. The majority of them got away, though few of them managed it without burns or bites. Charlie had gone after them like a cat in a roomful of mice, and if he was anything like Norbert, it was sure to be an unpleasant experience for them—he was, after all, very venomous.

The Headmaster had found Hermione curled up on the floor, the broken pieces of Ravenclaw's diadem clutched tightly in surprisingly cold hands. She didn't remember how she got there. She wasn't sure how or why she had ended up like that, though she did remember stabbing the horcrux. Gryffindor's Sword was lying on the floor next to her. She jerked awake, nearly kicking Dumbledore in the shins as she lashed out in surprise.

"You did it," Dumbledore said almost wonderingly, as Hermione slowly got to her feet. The broken diadem was carefully placed on the desk. "Amazing…"

There was a muted murmur of assent from the portraits and, from his corner, a slight chuckle from the Sorting Hat.

And then he sent her off to the Infirmary.

"Has anyone found out how the Death Eaters got in?" Ron asked, sitting on the edge of Seamus's bed and tugging at a Chocolate Frog wrapper. The other Gryffindor kicked him in the side of the thievery, but Ron only took the card and gave up the frog.

"It was the Shrieking Shack," Ginny said. "I saw them leave while helping put out the fire down by the Forbidden Forest." She gave Harry a secret sort of smile. "That's how one of them tried to get away, but the tree whomped him first. Dolohov, I think. That's how he got caught."

Hermione rubbed her temple. "And then?"

"Well, then Dumbledore brought everyone to the Great Hall to inform them about what happened," Neville said, picking up the story. "I dunno where you were then, but a couple of the students volunteered to help with the clean-up while the rest of us got some food from the house-elves."

"And Charlie?"

"He's back with Hagrid, though he's still off the chain. Not that it matters," Ron said with a chuckle, "he's been asleep since then. Smug git." He turned to Harry. "I still can't believe he let you ride him like that, though."

Harry picked up a Chocolate Frog by the bedside and began unwrapping it. "He's not that bad, for a dragon," he muttered. "I could get used to having him around."

"If he hadn't crashed into the clock tower when he did…"

"I thought he was going to set the entire castle on fire."

"He nearly did," Hermione clarified. "It's lucky Hagrid's house was fireproofed, too—it took multiple hits."

"The Forbidden Forest didn't fare so well, though," Neville pointed out.

"The damage isn't that bad," Ginny said. "It's just the edge. Hagrid says it'll grow back."

~o~O~o~

The first thing Hermione did when she saw Severus the next morning—after the cleanup had been concluded, after a second debriefing, after a meeting with the school-assigned Aurors and the Minister of Magic, after finding Selenius and reassuring herself that he was really alright ("Geroff me, mum," had been his muffled, sullen response)—was to pull him into a tight hug, wrapping her arms around him. They were in her classroom, where she was finally starting to pack up the classroom to prepare for the summer. And he, being the Head of Slytherin house, had finally found a moment free of his own particular set of duties to seek her out.

"I'm so glad you're alright," she whispered, burying her face in his chest.

"You knew I would," he said.

"Not like I used to. Not like when I still knew the future."

He stroked her hair. "I just went to get the students from the Astronomy tower. Take them back to their dorms, and then do a headcount of my own House. You already knew that."

"Yes," Hermione said, closing her eyes with a relieved smile. "Yes, I did. But naturally, things didn't go as planned."

"Perhaps it's for the best," Severus stated. "It did give me an opportunity to solidify my position within the Dark Lord's ranks while also getting the next Horcrux."

"That's five down," Hermione said, breathing a sigh of relief. "So close. We're so close…"

Her eyes suddenly snapped open.

"Did the Dark Lord know the difference between the diadem Bellatrix brought back?" she asked suddenly.

"I don't know," Severus said quietly. "I shall find out the next time he summons me, shan't I?"

This only made her hold him tighter, if for no other reason than there were no words to express herself. The Know-It-All, as he had once infamously dubbed her, was speechless. She was vaguely aware of his hand leaving her hair, and a moment later, there was a gentle bell-like sound as he lifted the rose on her desk out of its vase, the stem bumping against the glass as he snapped it in half. Then she felt him sliding it into her hair.

"I planned it out carefully," he murmured into her ear, as he affixed the rose to the loose, messy chignon resting against her neck. "Even if the Dark Lord notices, he will simply believe that someone else got there first—and left a fake in its place. There's no room for suspecting me. Even if he works through the Memory Charm I placed upon her, he will believe it was Potter—Potter acting under Dumbledore's orders, because that's what the Dark Lord believes he does."

"You'd better be right," Hermione said quietly, placing a light kiss on his chest.

He let out a dark chuckle. "I've been watching my step for nearly twenty years, Hermione. I haven't survived this long out of sheer luck."

Hermione cocked her head for a moment as though considering this, and then startled him by laughing.

"I contest that. I'd say surviving wild dragons in Romania for your apprenticeship relied on luck."

"You weren't there," he muttered.

"I was there when I almost caved your head in the first time you came home after being Summoned," Hermione reminded him.

Severus's expression soured. "That wasn't the welcome home I was expecting."

Hermione's eyes glittered at this as she remembered other times—other moments—of that summer they had shared at Spinner's End. She caressed his chest for a moment, and then at last, her hand fell upon the buttons.

"The students will be on the train in a few hours, once the Leaving Feast has concluded," she said, thumbing one loose—and then a second— with a secret sort of smile. "It'll be just like old times—back when I used to teach…"

"Stolen moments," he agreed quietly, his eyes darkening with interest. "The library was always a favorite."

She nuzzled the tiny strip of pale flesh now visible at the top of his chest, and then jerked away, her ears twitching visibly as she heard footsteps approaching the classroom. Severus's expression immediately turned disinterested and blank, and the two of them took a step away from each other just as the classroom door opened.

Draco Malfoy stood there, a letter clutched in his hands. He blinked as he took the two of them in, and realizing they weren't about to throw him out, walked in and quietly shut the door behind him. He wordlessly crossed the room, and held out the letter.

Hermione took it, unfolding it. Her eyes scanned it for a moment, her eyebrow rose ever so slightly, and then she handed it to Severus.

"I—Professor Faulkner said I could spend the summer working with him," Draco said stiffly.

"That's good," Hermione said, looking pleased. "It means he's taking your apprenticeship request seriously."

Severus folded up the letter and handed it back to its original recipient. "My guess is that your mother already knows. Nevertheless, he's given you a week to prepare, so I recommend you take advantage of the opportunity."

Draco nodded, stuffing the letter into his pocket. If Hermione didn't know better, she would have suspected he was frightened. As it was, she knew from experienced that he was merely nervous and trying to contain it.

"I—I just wanted to thank you for tutoring me this year," he said, his tone surprisingly cordial. "And I wanted to confirm that you'll be tutoring me next year, as well."

"If Faulkner says you need it," Hermione said seriously. "It's quite possible you'll impress him enough that additional tutoring won't be necessary."

Draco shook his head.

"I learned more from you than I have in most of my classes," he said, not quite meeting Severus's gaze. "Even if I don't _need_ the extra tutoring, if you would be willing to give it to me, I would—I would greatly _appreciate_ the additional tutoring."

Hermione gave Draco a considering look.

"Well, I always do appreciate a student willing to go the extra mile," she said at last, and for the first time since she had begun working with him, she gave him a small, genuine smile. "We'll see how things are come next September."

~o~O~o~

A celebratory feast was had at the Burrow that night. Bill was still recovering from his run-in with Fenrir, but the scars were healing over, and he was well enough to join in, helping set up the tables outside with Fred and George. Harry and Ron ended up playing Exploding Snap with Ginny while they waited for dinner to be served. Hermione tried to stay out of Molly's way while she cooked, but after assurances that another hand would be more than welcome, she ended up watching the stew to make sure it didn't boil over.

"Congratulations on surviving another year," Molly said, charming a knife and cutting board to start systematically chopping up vegetables. When Hermione raised an eyebrow, Molly quickly clarified, "As the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, of course. You'll be teaching next year, won't you?"

"If Albus has no objections," Hermione said easily, but they both already knew the answer to this. Of course Dumbledore would have no objections: Hermione would be returning to Hogwarts. The sound of chopping grew harsher, more staccato, and Hermione asked, "Is everything alright?"

"Why is every year harder than the last?" Molly asked wearily, now slicing strips of ham for a pie.

Hermione understood what she meant. "It's always the hardest before the end," she said quietly, still stirring, though she knew the stew didn't really need it anymore. "It was like this before the Dark Lord fell the first time. The beast that knows its dying fights all the more ferociously before its end."

"They'll be safe at Hogwarts," Molly said. "At least, I thought they'd be. But if even Hogwarts isn't enough to keep You-Know-Who out, then what is?"

"I'll be going through Hogwarts over the summer, sealing off all the secret passages," Hermione vowed. "I know the castle better than anyone. There won't be another loophole like the Shrieking Shack."

"He'll just find another way," Molly whispered fearfully.

"Not without breaking through the wards, he won't."

When dinner was finally served, Hermione was relieved to see that Selenius had finally deigned to join them. He had been oddly quiet since he got off the train, and the moment they arrived at the Burrow, he had gone up to the room he had shared with Harry and Ron and hadn't been seen since. Hermione had gone to check up on him twice and to bring food, to find him sitting on the floor against the bed with a book, clearly wanting to be left alone.

Sirius arrived five minutes late with Remus and Tonks, and Buckbeak could be seen milling about the garden as the three of them found their seats.

"There was a spot of trouble at the Ministry," Tonks confided, as she sat across from Hermione. "Reporters badgering us for information about what went down at Hogwarts two nights ago, and they finally picked up the story about how Hogwarts is keeping a dragon. Scrimgeour didn't need to deal with them right now, he's got a lot on his plate, so it was up to us to escort them out."

"What's Scrimgeour saying about the attack?" Arthur asked, helping himself to a slice of mince pie.

"He said there was an opening in the defense that he's certain the school will take appropriate measures to fix, but that you lot acted admirably under the circumstances," Tonks said without skipping a beat. "I'm also fairly sure he wants a word with you, Harry—Hermione."

"Not without Ron," Harry said firmly.

Ron, whose expression had soured visibly at the exclusion, immediately brightened at this.

"Yes, I did expect there would be some things they'd want taken care of," Hermione said, before taking a bite of food. She took a moment to chew it thoughtfully, and then swallowed and added, "If the _Prophet_ is giving Scrimgeour a hard time, this is where he's going to ask Harry to come in. And after thwarting the Dark Lord again—"

"I thought they got what they came for," Remus said with a worried frown.

"No, they were tricked," Hermione said, eliciting looks of delight from the others at the table. "He hasn't found out yet, I don't think, but it won't be long. But because of that, he's at a disadvantage—we're backing him into a corner, so to speak." She set her fork down. "Now would be a good time to work with Scrimgeour and make sure we're all on the same page."

"Will we have Kneazles at Hogwarts next year?" Ginny asked.

"Hope so," Harry said. "I quite liked them. And they were actually pretty useful."

"There's nothing like taking down Bellatrix Lestrange in the middle of Hogsmeade with an angry Kneazle," Ron remarked dryly.

Hermione chuckled. "I agree. I'm fairly sure we'll employ them next year, hopefully with the same pair of Aurors."

"What are your plans for the summer?" Sirius asked, glancing over at Selenius who was moodily taking a stab at his meat pie with a fork.

"I'll be returning home," Hermione said. "I need to sort out some things first, but I'll know my own plans better after that." She paused, and then quietly admitted, "I thought of paying my parents a visit, to reassure them, but…"

"But what?" Ron asked.

Hermione shook her head.

"It's been over twenty years since I last saw them," she said, struggling to keep her face expressionless—but the way her words were choked out still gave away her distress. She covered her mouth with her hand for a moment, and then said, "I don't know what they think happened to me, but I can't be certain they would maintain my cover, and it's—I can't risk it."

"At least you have parents to go back to," Harry said quietly.

"Do I really, Harry?" Hermione asked, giving her best friend a sad smile. "I think you sometimes forget who I am—sometimes, I forget who _I_ am," she added, her brow furrowing. "I don't really remember who I was, back when I was Hermione Granger—it was such a long time ago for me."

"Twenty years is a long time to be away from home," Remus agreed softly. "Especially when your parents may not even recognize you."

"Not even Barty Crouch Jr. recognized me," Hermione said, her lips pressed together in thin amusement. "That's the only reason I was able to trick him into working with me, because he thought I'd changed so much."

"You're still the same person to me," Harry argued.

Hermione smiled in a way that was meant to show her gratitude, and then looked away, not quite able to meet his gaze. How was she supposed to convey to him how differently time had passed for her? Her best friends—the people around her—they all knew her at different points in her life, in different contexts, literally in different timelines. How could any them hope to reconcile what they knew of Hermione Granger with who she was now, Hermione Snape?

"I don't mean to change the subject," Molly said, though it was very clear to Hermione that she did, and Hermione appreciated this, for it felt as though they had wandered into strange waters, "but your letters should be arriving in about a month—"

"Yeah, a month," Ron said, helping himself to some home-made raspberry-and-rhubarb ice cream.

"Nevertheless," Molly said, looking slightly harried, "Hermione will already know what supplies you'll need, so it might not be a bad idea to go early…"

Harry said nothing, out of politeness, but it was Fred who said what they were all thinking.

"Oh come on, mum, let them have their summer before they start thinking about school again," he said, taking his own serving of ice cream. "It'll still be there in a month."

"That's what we thought about Ollivander and Fortescue, and look at what happened to them!" Molly snapped.

Hermione raised a hand, hoping to quell the oncoming argument, but she needn't have; Harry's fork thunked to the table as he dropped it in surprise.

"Wait," he said. "What happened to them?"

"Death Eaters," George said in a low voice. "Yesterday, in Diagon Alley. Everyone saw it. They tried to drag Ollivander off, and Fortescue went stop them, that's how he got tangled up in it."

"Brave man, Fortescue," Remus said, looking more careworn than ever. Seeing the looks on Harry, Ron, and Ginny's faces, he added, "He was killed, of course, though Ollivander got away. But he hasn't come back." He rubbed his tired eyes. "Probably in hiding now, that would be the smart thing to do. Fortescue's funeral was yesterday."

"Then why would we want to go to Diagon Alley now?" Ron demanded.

"Because the Ministry's assigned more Aurors to the district after what happened," Hermione filled in, chewing on her bottom lip unconsciously. "The first few days after an attack are the safest, that's when everyone's on high alert."

The whole table fell silent at this, and then Bill said at last, "If Hermione gives me a list of what you guys need next year, I can drop by and get them on my way from work tomorrow. You won't need robes and potions refills until the end of the summer, and shopping before school will go quicker if that's all you have to get."

Molly threw her oldest son an immensely grateful look, and the conversation was thankfully dropped.

~o~O~o~

Hermione returned to Hogwarts the next day and began doing her rounds, after sending Selenius to Tine Cottage to be with Sirius. She didn't need the Marauder's Map to find the passageways, since she already knew them by heart, so she didn't bother asking to borrow it from Harry again. Severus accompanied her as she made her way to the Shrieking Shack.

"The Dark Lord hasn't summoned any of us since the attack on Hogwarts three days ago," he said quietly, as Hermione began drawing a magical line around the Whomping Willow. Severus stood by the knot, ensuring the tree would stay frozen while Hermione worked. "He did order Macnair, Dolohov, and the Lestrange brothers to kidnap Ollivander, but he hasn't called them to punish them for failure yet."

"Do you have any idea where he is?" Hermione asked, as the line flared gold. A wall of light rose up around the tree, encasing it, and Hermione began inscribing runes into it, using her wand like a stylus.

"The Headmaster suggested he may be checking on his other Horcruxes," Severus responded silkily. "I can't confirm this, naturally, but given that he's gone through the trouble to retrieve the Diadem, it's not a far-fetched guess."

Hermione frowned as the runes lit up against the backdrop of the ward, and then disappeared. Magic crackled along the tree, and then the entrance to the tunnel below began to glow. Beads of light came together, combining until it created a solid wall of golden glow, and then suddenly transformed into stone. The entrance was now blocked, and nothing short of tearing down her wards would remove it.

"Does he know I have the ring?" she asked, casting a spell along the ward to check its strength.

"I don't believe so."

"If the ring is the first one he looks for, he'll know it's missing soon enough," Hermione said, as they turned to leave. The tree behind them gave a little shake, and they quickly ducked as it stretched its branches and took an almighty swing at them. "At the very least, he'll find out some of his Horcruxes have gone missing, and he'll be very angry. Very angry indeed."

Severus winced. "I don't want to be there when that happens."

"Well, you can't really be implicated in anything, so he'll have no reason to punish you," Hermione said, sounding rather self-satisfied. "After all, it is Bellatrix's fault she got the wrong diadem, not yours—if that's even an excuse. Perhaps the Dark Lord will believe it was already switched long before she got there. Particularly since you aided her in shaking me off—you've covered your tracks, everything you've done in the eyes of the Dark Lord has been to assist him. It's his other followers who've earned his ire."

"Particularly when they were thwarted by a bystander in kidnapping Ollivander," Severus murmured. "I had absolutely nothing to do with that."

Hermione grimaced. "I feel terrible about Fortescue—we've known him for so long…"

"At least his death wasn't in vain. It highlighted the incompetence of the others in a situation I had no involvement in."

"And Ollivander got away," Hermione said softly, as they ascended the stairs into the castle. "That's good for us."

"The Dark Lord," Severus said, with an air of grim but quiet satisfaction, "will be absolutely furious."

They made their way up to the state of Gregory the Smarmy, and Hermione once again began drawing her golden line along the outline of the entrance to the secret passage concealed behind it.

"Since we don't expect his focus to be on you, perhaps we'll have our summer plans to ourselves," Hermione offered casually, as the wall of light once again appeared. She began drawing in the runes that would hold this particular warding together. "Selenius could actually stay with us this summer."

Severus considered this for a moment, leaning against the statue as he pondered the ramifications of this. "It's possible, but still incredibly risky," he asserted. "We would have to make his presence easy to hide on a moment's notice, which would be a strain on his freedom."

"You're right," Hermione said with a sigh. "He'll have to stay at Tine Cottage."

"Not the Burrow?" Severus asked lightly.

"He'll spend time there, but Tine Cottage is where he's comfortable," Hermione said with a sigh. "There are a lot of reasons, but I think the bottom line is just that there's such a huge age difference between himself and the others—he would feel left out, rather the way Ginny did before she went to Hogwarts. I think he'd prefer to stay with Sirius and Kreacher. And he'll have Buckbeak there, too."

"Is it true that the demented house-elf is actually being _pleasant_ now?" Severus sneered.

"Yes, actually," Hermione said, brightening up at this. "His cooking's also improved, if you can believe it."

"I don't."

"Well, I wasn't asking you to try it."

Hermione stepped back to examine her handiwork, and then they began climbing the stairs, making their way to the corridor of the One-Eyed Witch. They found Peeves sticking gum on the underside of her nose, and Hermione let out a sigh as she pointed her wand at him.

"Go away, Peeves."

Peeves blew a loud raspberry at her, but recalled her from years past, and had already learned his lesson about trifling with her and simply floated through the wall, cackling madly.

"No wonder Filch envies you," Severus remarked, as Hermione examined the statue. "No doubt he's off to unscrew a chandelier somewhere."

"I think he got bored of that during Umbridge's reign," Hermione said, tapping the hump and muttering, "_Dissendium._" It slid open, and she added, "I want to block it off from half-way to Honeydukes."

"Whatever for?" Severus asked, sounding bored as she began climbing into the hole.

"I'd like to keep as many passages open for use within the school as possible," Hermione said, dangling over it, feet-first. "You never know when you need a place to hide—_whoa!_"

She let out a tiny shriek as Severus shoved her in unexpectedly, and she thought she heard his laugher as she slid down the tunnel. She landed at the bottom with a bit more grace than she had twenty years ago, but not by much. She tried to land on her feet, overshot just a bit, and ended up tumbling to the side as she struggled to overcompensate for balance. She let out a huff of indignation as she stood up, dusting off her robes. She considered whether she ought to put up a temporary ward at the mouth of the tunnel so that he'd hit it when he came down, but inevitably decided against it, knowing it would mean another exasperating trip to the Hospital Wing. They had been somewhat infamous for it back in school, much to Poppy's enduring consternation, and she didn't need to give the Matron another reason to scold them.

He came through a moment later, landing on his hands and feet without suffering the same tumbling indignation she had. Hermione glared at him, lighting the tip of her wand so they could see.

"I can't believe you pushed me, you prat!" she snapped, as he got to his feet. "_Again!_"

She let out a yelp of surprise, her wand dropping to the ground and going out as he grabbed her by the front of her robes and kissed her. Further protest was cut-off as tongues tangled, mapping out familiar paths, and she surrendered a moue of almost reluctant delight before he pulled away.

"Yes, you can," he said, sounding rather smugly satisfied with himself as he bent down to retrieve her wand. "You just weren't expecting it. There's a difference, love."

Hermione took the vinewood, and with a subtle flick, had it lit once more. "Prat," she breathed, but it had no bite behind it, and came out sounding rather like a sigh of endearment than an insult.

"I remember was it was like," Severus said suddenly, sounding rather far away as they began creeping forward through the tunnel. "When we snuck out to Diagon Alley for my birthday."

There were many things Hermione had forgotten about her former life, but that fateful evening was not one of them. A trip to Diagon Alley that had changed her perspective on everything—Severus, school, and life itself—forever was too memorable to fall into the cobwebs of recollection, though she often forgot about it, rarely having the time or energy to fully draw up and savor the wellspring of emotions it created in her.

That illicit trip to Diagon Alley had opened up her eyes to a new world—a world of magic within a magical world. And she had her husband, who had been nothing more than a lonely boy and her best friend back then, to thank for that.

She took a step forward, catching him by surprise as she wrapped her arms around him, drawing him to a halt. He didn't turn around, allowing her to worm her hands around his waist, holding him tightly to her.

She kissed him on the juncture at the back of his neck where it met his shoulder, and she felt an odd little shiver run down his spine as she did so.

"Thank you for reminding me," she whispered, planting another kiss, eliciting another shivered response. "Of the joys from a lifetime ago."

She felt one of his hands move to cover hers, and smiled.

~o~O~o~

Harry very nearly collapsed in the middle of a game of Gobstones with Ginny, Ron, and Hermione three days later. They had been sitting on the living room floor of the Burrow when he suddenly dropped his stone and leaned forward, bent over and clutching his head.

"Harry!" Ron exclaimed in an undertone, trying not to draw too much attention to them, with a furtive look at Hermione. "Hermione, what's happening to him?"

Harry's eyes squeezed shut tightly for a moment, and then just as suddenly as he had keeled over, he straightened up again, though still clutching his scar.

"It's—it's Voldemort," he said, his voice cracking. "I managed to block him out, but not before…"

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione demanded, hauling him fully upright. "What did you see?"

"He… he went to an underground lake," Harry said, rubbing his forehead. There was a boat, and the lake was full of bodies…"

Ron and Ginny blanched at this. Hermione felt the hair along her spine begin to stand on end, but pressed on. "And then what?"

"He… he drained a basin full of glowing potion," Harry muttered. "It was green, and there was a locket at the bottom of it."

Hermione's blood suddenly ran cold.

"And then… he opened it… and found a note…"

"What did it say?" Ron demanded.

"I don't know, but it made him angry, really angry…" Harry said tightly. He looked at Hermione. "It… he knows that someone took the real locket…"

"Someone else did," Hermione said quietly. "I already destroyed it. Is that all?"

Harry nodded, panting slightly as he tried to recover from the terrifying vision.

"Spend a few minutes meditating," she instructed. "Clear your thoughts. If the Dark Lord is angry, his emotions will bleed into your mind more easily, if unintentionally. You need to shut him out."

"I understand," Harry bit out, though it was not with anger at her, but with the effort it was taking to lock Voldemort out of his head.

Hermione gazed into his eyes for a moment, gauging what she saw, and then straightened.

"I was expecting him to find out eventually," she said heavily, as Harry's breathing began to even out. His eyes had closed, but it was clear that he was engaging his defenses again, doing everything he could to keep the Dark Lord from connecting to his mind, even by accident. She gave him a small smile of approval, but then her expression grew somber. "Of course, now he'll begin doing a full assessment of how many have already been destroyed…"

"Destroyed what?" Ginny asked, her eyes narrowing at Hermione, not in suspicion but in careful consideration.

"Naturally, you'll remember Riddle's Diary," Hermione said, as Harry's eyes opened again, clear and calm once more. "The Dark Lord made more objects just like it, in an attempt to preserve himself—a step of immortality, if you will."

"And how many have you destroyed?" Ginny asked.

"I destroyed four," Hermione said grimly. Ginny let out a tiny gasp of surprise at this, and Ron uttered a shocked, "Wicked…" as she added, "But with the Diary destroyed, that means the actual count is five."

"And how many are there?" Ginny demanded.

"Seven," Ron said, looking at Hermione in awe. "I just hadn't realized how much progress she'd been making on them…"

"It wasn't easy, I assure you," Hermione replied sardonically.

"Does Snape know about them?" Ron asked curiously, as Harry picked up his gobstone again, determined to continue on as normal.

"No," Hermione lied, her eyes glittering as she gazed at the three of them. "He has no idea."

* * *

**Please review!**

**~Anubis Ankh**


	23. Chapter 25

**A/N: The Ravens won the superbowl (woo-hoo!) and I'm home sick today. Ah-_choo!_**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

**Please review!**

* * *

"Harry's defenses are beginning to fail," Hermione informed Severus the next day, as they stood outside Tine Cottage. They were in the shadows under the eaves, away from the bright summer sun. Selenius's odd, sullen streak had not quite abated over the last week, though it seemed to improve whenever he went flying. Now they watched him bowing to Buckbeak, unblinkingly, with Sirius supervising. "I've told the Headmaster, naturally."

"What caused it?" Severus asked quietly.

"The Dark Lord found out about the locket Horcrux," Hermione said in an undertone. "Harry managed to block it out moments after it happened, and though we undoubtedly know he's still enraged—perhaps even more so, now that he's had a chance to check on other Horcruxes—Harry's managed to deaden the link enough that a second bleed-through hasn't happened. But the fact that it happened in the first place concerns me."

"Potter hasn't been having strange dreams?"

"No. Ron can attest to that."

Her husband lifted a finger to his lips, tracing them the way he often did when deep in thought. "It would seem to me that strong emotions, particularly on the Dark Lord's end, strengthen the link. Sudden outbursts seem to be enough to break through the normal level of defenses Potter employs against him, forcing Potter to put in more effort to keep him out in those moments than usual."

"That's what I thought, but the way things are going for the Dark Lord, things are only going to get harder for Harry from here on out," Hermione said in a hushed tone. Selenius was climbing onto Buckbeak's back now, and a moment later, the Hippogriff took off at a running start, racing for the cliff. "Harry _has_ been keeping up his practice—even I could tell that, with the amount of time it took him to cut off the link—but it still presents a danger."

"I agree," Severus muttered.

There was an audible shout of delight as Buckbeak spread his wings and lunged into the air.

"How are the Malfoys faring?" Hermione asked quietly.

"Draco left for France today," Severus replied.

"I thought Faulkner moved to the Mariana Islands?"

"He moved back to Europe five years ago," Severus corrected. "Narcissa appears to be relieved, and according to her, Lucius shares her sentiments. Things went better than expected."

"And the Dark Lord?" Hermione asked, her tone perfectly casual.

"He appears to have more important things on his mind."

"Excellent."

Another pause, and then Hermione said, "Charlie's namesake dropped by today as arranged to pick him up."

It took Severus a moment to realize who she was referring to, and then his lips quirked up in a smile. "He's going to Romania?"

"He's taking Charlie back to the Hebrides Isles," Hermione corrected. "The MacFusty clan want him back. Dumbledore agreed it was best. And what better place to hide a powerfully magical object than in the belly of a dragon?"

"It would be amusing to see someone try to retrieve it, to be sure." Severus cocked his head at her for a moment, his expression thoughtful, and then he asked, "Why didn't you just destroy it?"

Hermione bit her lower lip, trying to decide how much to divulge. Sometimes, the lines between husband and spy became blurred, and she had to think carefully before she spoke.

"I have… plans for it," she said at last, and this was true. After much careful consideration and consultation of her notes, she had found a use for the stone that was too important for her to let slip away. "Charlie will keep it safe, for as long as need be."

He gave a non-committal grunt at this but did not press further.

Hermione silently took his hand in hers, resting her cheek against his shoulder as they watched Buckbeak bank to the left, riding the wind before dipping down to skim the ocean spray.

"Just one more year," she whispered. "I'm sure of it."

"Seer," he muttered.

"Not bloody likely."

~o~O~o~

Severus was summoned that evening.

They had been eating dinner when his elbow slipped, nearly knocking the bowl of Hermione's home-made rolls as he grabbed his forearm, grimacing in pain. Hermione caught the bowl just before it left the edge of the table and slid it back in place.

"That doesn't look good," she said quietly.

"It never is." He got to his feet, subtly flicking his wand to summon his mask and cloak. "I don't know how long I'll be gone. Don't wait up."

But Hermione inevitably did. As soon as he left, she began clearing the table, putting things away, knowing that after the events of the past few days, he was unlikely to return quickly. She did the dishes by hand, hoping to whittle away the time with a mindless task, and then ensconced herself in the cluttered library that she had—truthfully—not seen much of for quite some time. Their combined duties had meant the house had been somewhat abandoned over the years, and Hermione found herself idly magicking away dust off of shelves and various tomes as she waited. The collection at Spinner's End had expanded from a general assortment of treatises on dark arts and mildly illicit spellbooks to rare discourses on Alchemy and a variety of highly-illegal tomes. Hermione regretted none of it; the shared desire for elusive knowledge kept at their fingertips was a shared passion between herself and her husband. Their library, for all they rarely had an opportunity to enjoy it now, was a work of passion built between them.

The Restricted Section at Hogwarts had absolutely nothing on their personal, deranged little collection.

It occurred to her that they had never really had to child-proof the library, because Selenius had never been at Spinner's End often enough to warrant it. On the occasions he had, they usually spent that time together as a family. It meant he wasn't wandering through the house on his own, thereby keeping him out of trouble. Hermione's eyes leveled on a book on one of the top shelves, and she gave it a grim sort of smile as she pressed it in place just a bit further. The thought that they had never really had the chance to be a proper family—to live at home, to raise their son, to go through each and every rigor that all attentive parents were guaranteed to face—saddened her, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

Thinking about lost moments in parenting momentarily drew her back to thoughts of her own parents, but she quickly pushed them away. It was for the safety of all involved that she kept her distance. At the very least, it was a rather convincing reason to do so. It kept an already-complicated situation from becoming even more so.

The minutes ticked by agonizingly, and the sky outside grew dark as she waited. Hours passed as she sat in the library, gazing down at a book that her brain refused to read. Her eyes slid off the page, lost in thought after a few sentences of reading Herpo the Foul's _Convulsions of Nature._ It was an interesting book, it really was, and entirely relevant to the many inquiries she had about the incomplete Philosopher's Stone—particularly in how she planned to utilize it—but it was difficult to concentrate when her mind was hundreds of miles away at Severus's side instead. It was also risky, because when she did let her thoughts wander, the smoke would unfurl impatiently from between the book's pages, and Hermione would quickly rush to subdue it again.

And then, as she turned a page, she seemed to snap back into herself. Something had been off for a long time, and now that she finally had a free moment in-between duties, her mind finally seemed to latch on and attack the problem, the one puzzle that had been bothering her since Ravenclaw's Diadem had been broken. Aside from Nagini, who was currently out of her reach, the last horcrux that needed to be destroyed was utterly unknown.

There were seven Horcruxes. Everything that Hermione knew about them told her that he took great care in their creation—in not only where he kept them or what object he chose to place a part of his soul in, but also in _who_ he murdered for the honor. He based his decisions upon a combination of convenience and status—Moaning Myrtle belonged to the former, but Tom Riddle Sr. and Hepzibah Smith belonged to the latter.

Everything that Hermione knew but had not quite put together until now pointed to the idea that Voldemort had not seven Horcruxes at the time that he murdered Harry's parents, but _five._ He had spent years collecting valuable objects to turn into horcruxes before seeking Harry out. He had already found the important objects he intended to use, but he wanted _six _horcruxes. It would make sense, then, that he would have also intended to turn Harry—his prophesied usurper—into a sixth, thereby splitting his soul into seven.

He had seven horcruxes now, with a soul split eight different ways. Bertha Jorkins had come along later, completing the set. So why had he made a seventh?

Hermione pondered this. Voldemort's soul had already been dangerously unstable the night he killed Harry's parents and tried to kill Harry. She had seen the damage the backfired spell had done to him, when it nearly blew up the house.

Dumbledore never told them what the seventh horcrux was, and Hermione had foolishly assumed that he himself didn't know.

But some things simply didn't make sense. Harry's link to Voldemort was more than just an irregularity, it was unheard of. Of course, until now, no one had survived a Killing Curse, but nothing logically explained why that would be the sole reason for their mental connection. Not unless Harry had some kind of anchor to Voldemort's mind.

Or unless Voldemort had an anchor… to Harry.

Suddenly, it all seemed to click with surprising simplicity.

Harry was the final Horcrux. The seventh, _unintended_ Horcrux.

Hermione had been spending her time destroying all the other pieces of Voldemort's soul, but to what end? Unless the piece within Harry died, it would be for naught.

_But surely_, a part of her mind protested, _surely even if the Headmaster knows this, he doesn't mean to _kill_ Harry…_

_But what alternative is there? _The harsher, more rational side of her pointed out. _Just because Albus cares for the boy doesn't mean he would be above sacrificing him for the greater good…_

Confronting the Headmaster about it right now was not the solution. If he knew—and if Hermione's suspicions about Harry were true, he surely did—then it would undoubtedly dissolve into an argument where neither of them would leave satisfied. At worst, a disagreement with him on this scale would erupt into a duel, and Hermione did not fancy her chances. She would rather wrestle hand-to-hand with the Giant Squid than duel Albus Dumbledore. Furthermore, he probably wouldn't need to fight her—he was a powerful wizard, but his real skills lay in manipulation. And Hermione knew that no matter how warily she walked in, dealing with her—whether with wand or wit—would be child's play for the Headmaster.

Hermione's power had grown over the years, and she had become accustomed to getting her way, but she hadn't fallen into reckless complacency. There were limits to how far a combination of manipulation and forceful personality would take her. She was not prepared to deal with Albus Dumbledore.

Part of Hermione was certain that if he expected Harry to survive, he would have told them this information already. The fact that he did not meant that Hermione was going to have to work this on her own.

She took this new discovery of hers with a calm, eerie sort of acceptance. She wasn't the brightest witch of the age for nothing. There were reasons why she was the Order's second-in-line chief administrator and the handler of its most important spy. There was quite a good case for why she was the true mastermind behind what was happening at the Ministry, where Scrimgeour was her figurehead. She had waltzed Sirius out of Azkaban, stolen a Prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, and single-handedly found and destroyed two of Voldemort's horcruxes.

She was married to a potions genius, hobby alchemist, and dark arts expert. She had personal collection of books that would make Madam Pince weep with envy. She had a Philosopher's Stone that would be at her disposal in about a year's time.

She tucked _Convulsions of Nature_ under her arm and went upstairs to her private workroom

She needed to think.

~o~O~o~

Severus noticed a marked change about his wife over the following few weeks.

The day after his summons, she paid a visit to the Minister with her two youngest friends, and then returned home and went straight to her workroom. This was not entirely unusual; the summer was the only time they had to spend time on private projects. He himself had taken the opportunity to ensconce himself in his lab to tinker with a few ideas that he hadn't been able to entertain during his time at Hogwarts.

He had his own things to worry about. Aside from intermittent summonings—which Hermione abandoned her project to get a report from, upon his return—he had exams to grade and a son to attend to. The exams were done away with fairly quickly, but the sullen son was another matter.

Hermione appeared to have slid into one of those rare cases where she focused on her project to the exclusion of all else. She was absentminded, distracted, and distant. She forgot what days she had planned to visit Selenius at Tine Cottage, or when she was expected at the Burrow for dinner. Severus had to go into her workroom remind her of an important Order meeting that was being held at Grimmauld Place that day, on the thirtieth.

"It's the end of July?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at him with an odd sort of frown. "I thought it was still June … isn't Harry's birthday tomorrow?"

Severus would have laughed at this incident if it had not so perfectly highlighted the level of disengagement she had sunk into.

"What are you working on?" he asked, picking up a sheaf of parchment that was more ink than paper with the amount of notes she had scribbled on it. This was a test; it was normally considered taboo for one or the other to go through their partner's private research without permission, but Hermione simply waved it off.

"Research on the Philosopher's Stone," she said, chewing on the end of her quill and staring at the diagram in front of her with an unblinkingly intense gaze. "Do you know where our book on basic rune layouts is? I can't remember where I left it."

"It's in my lab."

Black had started giving him odd, suspicious looks weeks ago, whenever he visited Tine Cottage. On more than one occasion, Severus caught him giving Hermione a scrutinizing look, as though trying to figure out the method to her madness. The reason for her strange, distracted behavior. Severus could have told him it was because even if her body was there, playing chess with Selenius, her mind was still stuck in her workroom hundreds of miles away, chewing away on an entirely unrelated problem.

But he didn't. He couldn't even remember the last time he had spoken to Black.

Any sense of territoriality Hermione had about her workroom vanished in the face of her all-encompassing attention to the project. It had reached the point where Severus could walk in and read her notes, and she would hardly notice. The walls were lined with diagrams, spell-o-taped to each other to form an overarching composition, with Muggle post-it-notes stuck at intervals.

And sometimes, she forgot to eat dinner. Even if he made it. Even if he delivered it.

"Hermione," he said one evening, leaning against the doorway with an untouched plate of grilled salmon, "this has to stop."

He was extremely surprised when Hermione slowly set her notes down to look at him.

"Come here."

He crossed over to her work table, and she motioned for him to set down the plate.

"Take a look at this."

He did.

Unlike her other notes, which were messy in composition for all that they were arranged beyond compare, this one was a neat organization of ideas carefully centered around a final diagram. Severus recognized the many components and elements of its make-up, and took a moment to reference the numbered notes that accompanied each particular mark and its purpose.

"What are you trying to accomplish?" Therein lay the real question.

"If this was activated, what would it do?"

He took a closer look.

"According to design, it would be triggered by the Killing Curse," he said, his face blank.

"And what would happen?"

"It wouldn't work. You would need an exceptionally powerful reservoir of magic to accomplish this."

"Assume there's a sufficient reservoir of magic here," she said, tapping the relevant part of the diagram. The one that marked its source of power. "What would happen?"

Severus considered this for a moment.

"If a person were standing in the place of the trigger," he said slowly, "they would die."

Hermione nodded. "Go on."

"But this is not the layout for a human sacrifice. There is no apparent purpose to it." Nor would he expect his wife to be actively working on a project that would require it. Human sacrifice was not her forte. "No power would be drawn from the person killed. Who would be standing there?"

"That doesn't matter yet. Continue."

Severus traced his way around the intricate diagram with one finger. "The Sacrifice's life would cycle through the smaller circles distributed over the larger one, and then…" he paused. "I presume you're trying to temporarily remove the Sacrifice's soul from their body and return it intact, but the last circle would prevent that."

"Would it prevent all of it, or just a part?"

"It would act as a filter. It would trap a specific aspect to it." Severus flipped the diagram upside-down and pointed to another part of it. "If that's your goal, you ought to invert this rune, or you'll unintentionally trap the entire soul in this circle—you're looking to excise a portion of it, not trap it all."

He handed the diagram back to her.

"I don't know how you would expect this to work," he added flatly. "No one's going to stand precisely where you want them to while you hit them with the Killing Curse. Unless you're attempting to make a Horcrux of yourself without murdering someone else?"

"No, I'm not. With that in mind, who do you think I'm planning to use this on?" Hermione asked, with an air of false innocence that didn't fool him for a minute.

"The Dark Lord, of course," he said.

"It's a good guess, but no." The only evidence of his surprise was a rapid blink, and she added, "There are other factors to consider, but I think I have the basic layout." She pulled out a roll of spell-o-tape and snapped a piece off, walking over to a clean section of the wall and putting the parchment in place. "I have a little under a year to perfect the diagram. I have time."

She turned to look at him.

"What's today's date?"

"August 10th," he supplied.

She blinked. "It's been that long?"

He held out his hand to her. She walked across the room, and took it. With a tug, he pulled her to him, and buried his nose in her hair. Her presence in bed had been decidedly missing for the last month and a half, and he had sorely missed actually _having_ her at his side. As opposed to her lying on her back wide awake, staring up into the darkness, her head still trapped in the room down the hall with her notes and diagrams. "Yes." A slight sniff, and he commented, "And you need a shower."

His wife looked ready to smack herself in the face. "Oh Merlin—I have books to assign! And I need to take Selenius for new books and robes…"

He let out a sigh that was partly relief mixed in with a healthy dose of exasperation. At least she had completed the first leg of her project, or had gotten a big enough breakthrough that she could redistribute her attention more evenly. _Finally._ "You finish up the exams. I'll speak with the Weasleys about taking Selenius with them this Saturday."

There was a brief flash of remorse in her eyes, which he recognized as regret that she would not be taking Selenius. He felt the same, but unlike her, he had no excuse for accompanying Selenius for school supplies. And then the expression was gone, and he knew she had shoved it aside, the way she locked up most of the thoughts and feelings she couldn't allow herself to dwell on at the moment. Hermione gave him a look, that particular look that contained a certain fiery glint in her eyes and a slight tilt to the corner of her lips as she took him in.

"Good. Because I have a job for you."

~o~O~o~

"You wished to speak to me, Severus?"

Severus closed the door behind him, silently surveying the Headmaster's office. As always, it seemed, Dumbledore was seated behind his desk, with something or another that required his attention. But as usual, he treated it as thought it could wait, in the event that someone needed his immediate attention.

"I wish to speak to you about Potter."

Dumbledore gave him a look of surprise. "What has he done now? Surely you aren't intending to put him in detention before school has even begun?"

Severus sneered. "No." Not that Potter wouldn't deserve it—Severus privately thought Dumbledore's Army deserved to be put in detention until the New Year for violating Orders to remain in their dormitories during the attack. Naturally, Potter would have paid it no heed. He smoothed his expression, as he took a seat. "The private lessons you gave him last year—do you plan to continue them this year?"

"Detention plans in advance now, I see," Dumbledore said, looking at him over his half-moon spectacles.

"I wonder," Severus said softly, "about the evenings you spend together. What information can you tell him, but not me?"

"What makes you think he knows any more than you do?"

"Call it intuition." Severus tilted his head. "Additionally, I have a wife who has been unable to share with me the same information that she says you gave him—and her."

Dumbledore gave him an assessing look that Severus was not at all unfamiliar with.

"It is Harry's task to defeat Voldemort," he said at last. "There is information that he needs that is essential to this."

"You trust him," Severus said quietly. _And my wife._ "You do not trust me."

"I prefer not to put all of my secrets in one basket, particularly not one that spends so much time dangling on the arm of Lord Voldemort."

Severus felt his hands clench together of their own accord. "Which I do on your orders."

"And you do it extremely well," Dumbledore said, folding his hands together. His gaze was perfectly serious. "Do not think I underestimate the constant danger in which you place yourself, Severus—or your wife. But you two play a dangerous game that has, at several points, nearly gone awry. There are some things that are not necessary for you to know, and we will all be the safer for it."

"These things, which you wish to keep from the Dark Lord," Severus stated, endeavoring to keep from grinding his teeth as he spoke, "you are telling to a boy with a direct link to the Dark Lord's mind. And who, even with his almost miraculous improvement in Occlumency, does not have the mental fortitude to keep him out entirely."

"While Lord Voldemort's emotions may occasionally leak through to Harry, I do not believe he will try to take advantage of their connection again," Dumbledore said. "He had a taste of it once before, and it resulted in unimaginable pain. Voldemort's soul, maimed and damaged, cannot bear to be in contact with one like Harry's. He will not try it again."

Severus searched the Headmaster's face, his own expression guarded. "I don't understand."

Dumbledore seemed to contemplate Severus carefully for a moment, and then apparently came to some sort of consensus with himself, because he got to his feet and walked toward the window. Fawkes let out a low, musical trill that, for a moment, put Severus at ease—but then Dumbledore next's words crushed it.

"You are aware, of course, that Lord Voldemort's quest for immortality resulted in the creation of horcruxes." There was a slight note of censure in the Headmaster's tone, and Severus knew it to be a reminder that he was not supposed to have known this. Try as they might, there was no hiding from the Headmaster that his wife often told him more than he was supposed to know. "With Hermione's assistance, we managed to destroy four of them over the last year, in addition to the one Harry took out four years ago in the Chamber of Secrets."

"There are seven," Severus offered quietly. "So this leaves two."

"You already know of the sixth, Nagini," Dumbledore continued.

"And the seventh?" Severus asked, hoping against hope that Hermione's suspicions were not correct.

For a long moment, Dumbledore did not answer him. He gazed out at the grounds of Hogwarts, which were slowly darkening in the coming twilight. At last, he turned to look at Severus.

"And the seventh," he said, "is Harry himself."

~o~O~o~

"So the boy must die," Severus said quietly, as he watched Hermione double-check her notes from _Advanced Runic Rituals._ "He kept it from us for this long—I doubt he would have ever willingly told us until the end."

"It's Dumbledore's way," Hermione said, seemingly unconcerned by this.

"And you have a better plan?" Severus demanded, sitting down next to her, pushing aside some detritus that had fallen off the table and onto the chair.

"I do."

"And you have no plans to divulge it to Dumbledore."

"Because Dumbledore and I are too much alike," Hermione said, opening up _Convulsions of Nature_ and laying it down side-by-side to _Advanced Runic Rituals._ "We both think we know best. Oftentimes, we come up with equally viable but entirely different plans."

"So," Severus said, sarcasm dripping from his words, "despite the fact that he has undoubtedly tried to find other alternatives, and doubtlessly still has more information withheld from us, you believe that you know better than Albus Dumbledore."

"Possibly. It's just like with Sirius," Hermione continued distractedly, scribbling away at her notes. "Dumbledore wanted to keep him locked up. I sent him to Tine Cottage for fresh air. My idea worked just fine, but when I asked Dumbledore for permission initially, he shot it down."

Severus gritted his teeth. "I believe that the subject of the Dark Lord's soul attached to Potter's is a tad more complicated than the logistics of keeping the mutt out of Azkaban."

"I know, Severus." For the first time, she sounded a bit weary. "Dumbledore's plans tend to be more foolproof than mine. Killing Harry is a lot simpler than formulating a complicated, untested, _untestable_ ritual to separate a scrap of Voldemort's soul from Harry's."

"Yes. It would be such a shame if you trapped both of their souls together for all eternity," Severus remarked.

"That's fixable, at least," Hermione argued. "I could try to repair that with another ritual. But once Harry's dead—he's dead, Severus. There will be no fixing that."

"I don't dispute it," Severus said, burying his face in his hands. "I'm merely disgusted. All these years, thinking I was protecting him… when I was really just raising him to be slaughtered…"

"No, you weren't," Hermione said, taking a pause from her notations to look at him.

"According to Dumbledore, we have."

"Well," Hermione said, her voice hard, "Dumbledore won't get the final say in this, will he?"

Severus looked up at her.

"Dumbledore says the Dark Lord himself must be the one to kill him," he said, sounding strangely calm.

"He did?" Hermione said, looking at him in surprise. "Did he say why?"

"As usual, he saw fit to speak in riddles, but I imagine it has something to do with the protection's Lily's death gave him," Severus said bitterly.

Hermione fell silent for a moment, and Severus watched the wheels turn in her head as she absorbed this.

"That… will merit further research," she said, her voice so quiet Severus barely heard her.

To his surprise, she set her quill down and held out her hand to him.

"It's late," she said. "We have a year to figure this out, and Dumbledore is in no hurry to kill Harry—at least, not while Nagini lives." He took her hand, and she pulled him to his feet. "We have time. Let's go to bed."

"Give it a fresh look in the morning," Severus muttered.

She kissed his cheek, and then with a gentle tug, began leading him from the room. He shut the door behind them.

"Hermione."

"Yes?"

He kissed her forehead.

"Thank you," he whispered, "for trusting me."

* * *

**Please review!**

**~Anubis Ankh**


	24. Chapter 26

**A/N: Sorry for late chapter. I'm behind on work because I was sick all last week.**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

**Please review!**

* * *

Draco wasn't certain what he had been expecting out of an apprenticeship, but all things considered, he was actually enjoying it. France was beautiful at this time of the year, and his family had such ample connections there that Draco rather felt at home, still sitting in the lap of luxury he was accustomed to. His mother made sure of it. That was not to say the work was easy, of course, but his extra lessons with Professor Granger had paid off handsomely. Faulkner—a tall wizard nearing his fifties, with dark hair that was steadily turning silver and piercing gray eyes—was everything Professor Granger had warned him he would be. Strict, exacting, advanced. But also fair. He was an easy man to work with, and Draco found that—thanks to the level of training he already had—he was also difficult to displease. Draco suspected that he would have enjoyed having him as a teacher at Hogwarts.

Faulkner worked as a Curse-Breaker for a strange sort of shop that sold everything—from rare books to old heirlooms, the shop was an oddly organized clutter of things that only collectors could possibly want. Unlike Borgin and Burkes, they did not sell cursed objects to their customers, forewarned or not. Draco's first day was spent prodding at an old leather-bound book that threatened to burn out the eyes of any reader belonging to the fairer sex. Faulker had easily thrown this assignment at him, given that Draco was under no threat of incurring the book's wrath, but it had not been an easy spell to unravel.

At some point, it stopped becoming a chore, and the challenge became part of the fun—particularly as Faulkner began entrusting him with more difficult curses to pry apart. With some, the challenge was to remove the curse without removing the other magical spells attached to the object, or he risked stripping the object of all of its value. A very fine old, antique but still-serviceable flying carpet was brought in one day, and Faulkner had used it as an opportunity to demonstrate how to remove its accompanying Bucking Charm without damaging the other spells that made the carpet function as it should.

"My godfather said you used to teach at Hogwarts," Draco said one evening, while he was examining a silver necklace that had been brought in that morning. "What made you leave?"

"I only agreed to teach for a year," Faulkner said simply, coming to stand behind Draco and take a look at his progress. "I didn't care to test the limits of the jinx."

"I thought you were supposed to be a Curse-Breaker," Draco said, giving Faulkner a shrewd look.

"I spent a year searching for the curse," Faulkner replied, unruffled. "I couldn't find it."

"Professor Granger's coming back to teach next year," Draco said, poking at the necklace with the tip of his wand. There was a sudden snapping sound, as the necklace morphed into a pair of silvery jaws with ivory-white teeth; Draco quickly tapped it again, and the teeth crumbled to dust. The necklace transformed back into its silver chain, and did not stir after yet another prodding. "And she taught for years after you left."

"So she did."

"But other teachers didn't survive even after she left," Draco said with sudden realization. "How'd she do that?"

"That would mean one of two things," Faulkner said, leaning against the work table. "Care to list them?"

Draco picked up the necklace, holding it up in the light where it dangled harmlessly from his fingers. "Either she broke the curse and re-cast it after she left, or she found a way to get around it."

"Very good," Faulkner said evenly. "Personally, I would place my bets on it being the latter."

"Did you teach her, sir?" Draco asked, already knowing the answer.

"Hmm. Yes," Faulkner said, taking the necklace from Draco and turning it over in his hands. "One of my best students, I'd say. Fine duelist, sharp wit, plenty of magical skill coupled with a tendency to get in trouble. Very memorable."

"Trouble, sir?" Draco asked, almost eagerly.

"Oh, yes. Earned herself and her partner-in-crime a slew of detentions after sneaking out to Hogsmeade, among other things." Faulkner gave Draco a faint smile. "She had a habit of sending the Slytherins up to the hospital wing, they liked to have a go at her." He tilted his head again, this time to the other side. "They never learned."

"Did you know she'd married?" Draco asked, thinking quickly.

"Not at all," Faulkner said, sounding politely curious as he set the necklace aside for the shop proprietor to deal with. "Who?"

"Care to take a guess?" Draco asked, hoping he wouldn't be called out on his bluff.

There was a pause, and Draco watched Faulkner tilt his head to the side for just a moment, whether in consideration or in dredging up memories. At last, he said, "The Snape boy, I suppose?"

Draco nearly dropped his wand.

"I—who?"

Faulkner straightened. "He was a year above her. Come to think of it," he said, summoning an old snuffbox from the shelf and sliding it over for Draco to look at, "he wrote one of your letters of recommendation."

"He—he's my head of house," Draco stammered, struggling to mask his surprise. "But I thought—you just said she—" He struggled to explain himself. "Professor Snape's a Slytherin, sir."

"Oh," Faulkner said pleasantly. "Yes. She sent him up to the Hospital Wing, too."

Draco gaped at him. Faulkner tapped the snuffbox with his wand.

"Enough chit-chat for now. Take a look at this."

~o~O~o~

As far as summers went, this was one of the ones that dragged by far too slowly when at this point, all Selenius wanted was for it to end. Aside from riding Buckbeak and playing chess, he had next to nothing to do aside from the homework that had been assigned over the summer. He'd already finished it months ago.

He didn't want to go to the Burrow. His face still burned red with shame and humiliation at the thought of facing his Quidditch teammates again, and he would rather be alone than deal with them. He occasionally got correspondence from Draco (and Sue Li and Terry Boot, if only to continue their chess games by owl mail), but he was in France.

Some days, he wandered out of the house and walked down to the beach. Sometimes, Buckbeak would amble after him, as though to keep an eye on him. More often than not, though, it was Crookshanks who followed at his heels. He skipped stones, dug up shells, and half-entertained the idea of finding and identifying potions ingredients before giving up. He wasn't allowed to brew potions on his own, anyway. His father usually dropped by two or three times a week, and rather than play chess, Selenius begged him to supervise his brewing—but it wasn't often enough.

And his mother dropped by even less. On the occasions that she did, she was never fully present.

Selenius found it extremely disheartening.

Sirius sensed that something was not quite right with him, but being good godfather that he was, he didn't interrogate Selenius about it. He did everything he could to try and cheer him up, though, which Selenius greatly appreciated. But then Harry would drop by, oftentimes with Ron or Ginny, and Selenius would be flying out the door before they had finished stepping out of the fireplace.

One evening in mid-August, Harry finally followed him down to the beach, with Buckbeak loping behind him at a jaunty pace. Selenius was already a-ways down the shoreline when he heard Harry call him from the rocky slope leading back to the cottage.

"Wait up!"

Selenius frowned, and then scooped up a rock and chucked it into the surf.

"What do you want?" he snapped, when Harry had jogged up close enough to hear.

"Look," Harry said, coming to a halt. Buckbeak loped past him and dipped his talons into the wave, scraping at the sand below. He shook his wings as the salty spray hit him, and Harry and Selenius both held up their hands to cover themselves. "Where've you been all summer? You haven't been over at all."

"I didn't realize I was supposed to," Selenius said sullenly.

Harry lowered his arms, giving Selenius an odd look. For a moment, Selenius had the impression that he was being scrutinized, and he bristled. He didn't want Harry's judgment.

"Selenius," Harry said at last, his lips twisting slightly over the unusual name, "we want you with us."

"Funny," Selenius scowled. "That wasn't the impression I got last time."

Harry held up his hands. "Look," he said, "you're a first-year. I wasn't fighting Death Eaters when I was eleven, either."

"No, you just got into other sorts of trouble."

"Selenius, did you see anyone below fifth year join us?" Harry asked, folding his arms. Selenius's scowl deepened, but he didn't answer. "Anyone who hadn't been in Dumbledore's Army last year?"

No response.

"Your mum would have killed us all if we let you go." Harry grimaced, and then offered Selenius a light-hearted smile that was obviously meant to make peace before adding, "And then your dad would have turned the bodies into horned toads and pickled them."

There was a moment of silence. Selenius's expression turned blank and impassive, unresponsive to Harry's humor, and then he turned to look at the water lapping at their feet.

"Just go away," he said quietly.

Harry didn't move from the spot for a long time, but Selenius didn't pay attention to when he finally left. He just knew that when he turned around to see where Crookshanks had wandered off to, the older boy was gone.

Selenius bent down and picked up the ginger half-kneazle, hugging him to his chest. Draco was the only one who treated him like someone capable and trustworthy. To some degree, he thought his housemates respected him on the Quidditch pitch, but now he thought they really didn't. Perhaps there was some truth Zacharias Smith's off-handed suggestion that Harry only put him on the team because of his Firebolt. With regards to everyone else, he was treated like a great big secret—a fragile, delicate secret that had to be hid at all costs. He considered the way Ginny had Petrified more of a symptom of the larger issue of how people treated him than anything regarding the situation itself.

He was tired of living like this. Of being forced to fit in, to capitulate and concede on just about everything, to stand back and just watch. To hide who he was. Harry was probably right when he said that his parents would have been furious with them if they'd let him come, but who's to say they would have ever found out? And even if they did, what could they have done about it after the fact? They wouldn't have been any more furious than Mrs. Weasley had been when she found out.

He frowned to himself as he reconsidered this. His father was the one who occasionally let him stretch his wings and have a little freedom—he was the one who had put him on Buckbeak's back, after all, and talked his mother into letting him ride a broom. He was the one who came over to Tine Cottage and showed him how to brew, or took him along the shoreline to look for ingredients. His father wasn't as restrictive as his mother, but Selenius still couldn't see him being happy about him joining the older students to fight Death Eaters. Especially seeing how his father also had the Dark Mark…

Perhaps it was better that he hadn't gone.

Crookshanks began to wriggle in his arms, feeling that Selenius had gone over his allotted cuddle time, and he reluctantly let him go.

Sometimes, he wished the Sorting Hat had put him in Slytherin instead. The Hat had whispered into his ear that Slytherin was where he would make his real friends, and now Selenius thought that he was right. There was also the suggestion that he would be well-suited for Ravenclaw. Still, Selenius had grown up with stories about the Golden Trio and the Marauders. The Sorting Hat had the grace to mention that there was a place for Selenius in Gryffindor, too, if he wanted it. And like the fool that he was, he'd taken it.

_I want it!_ He'd cried.

_Are you sure about that?_ The Sorting Hat had slyly asked.

_Yes! _He insisted. _Please!_

Now he regretted it—at times, he regretted that decision more than anything else. And his second year hadn't even started yet. There were some good points, of course, the more he thought about it—he saw first-hand as a Gryffindor how the other students saw Slytherins and talked about them behind their backs. As a Gryffindor, he avoided being painted with that brush, and was in a position to be rather liked by the other houses.

He turned to Buckbeak and bowed low, unblinkingly. After a moment of beady-eyed consideration, Buckbeak bowed back, and Selenius took two steps forward and tapped the Hippogriff's side.

"May I ride, please?" he asked softly.

Buckbeak turned his fearsome gaze onto him, and then knelt down low enough for Selenius to haul himself on.

"Thank you," he said sincerely, reaching down to grab Crookshanks by the scruff of his neck. He hauled the half-kneazle up, and the cat took a moment to situate himself before Buckbeak took off down the shoreline at a running start. A moment later, he lunged, and Selenius felt a smile spread across his face as the hippogriff took flight.

He let out a cry of delight as the wind whipped against his face, tasting of freedom.

~o~O~o~

They were all climbing aboard the Hogwarts Express, shuffling around the find compartments. Harry saw Hermione and Tonks patrolling the corridors, and was somewhat relieved that the Ministry had learned its lesson this time—there were at least two trained Aurors on here and a fully competent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He saw Selenius stop Malfoy in the middle of the corridor to say something to him, and then they parted ways, Selenius working his way over to Harry's compartment.

"Hi," he said, sliding the door open and sitting down opposite of Luna. He set down Crookshanks' carrier, and let the slightly irate half-kneazle out.

Harry's eyebrows raised at this, surprised, but he made no complaints and simply shut the compartment door.

"Final year, eh?" Ron said, peering out the window. "Can you believe it?"

"I don't envy you," Ginny said cheerfully. "You'll be loaded with homework."

"And we're not?" Selenius countered.

"Just wait until you get to fifth year."

The train began to move, and they all got up to look out the window. Sirius was standing by the Weasleys, waving at them as they passed.

It wasn't until Selenius dug into his knapsack for a snack that he found something lumpy wrapped in tinfoil. Thinking it would be a sandwich, and not finding anything more filling, he reluctantly pried it apart.

A grin suddenly spread across his face.

It was an extremely large slice of cake, with the words _Happy Birthday_ written on it in red and gold icing.

Tucked to the side was a scrap of parchment that read _Love, Mum._

* * *

**Please review!**

**~Anubis Ankh**


	25. Chapter 27

**A/N: I'm a bit overwhelmed with work and lacking sleep. That's why it's taking so long to post. I have to beta them first and make tweaks here and there, and that takes time—and worse, mental energy and coherency— that I simply don't have. I'm sorry. I try to get an update once a week.**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

* * *

As soon as the Welcoming Feast was over, Hermione went straight her quarters. The train ride had been delightfully uneventful. Hermione had patrolled the corridors and checked in on several compartments to ensure that everything was fine, and was greeted warmly by returning students who were glad to have her back. She saw gold change hands, as a few of the students who had made bets on her return gleefully collected their winnings. Malfoy gave her a solemn greeting. Everyone in Harry's compartment grinned ear from ear when she dropped by to see them. She and Tonks helped themselves to a sweet or two from the Trolley. It was not a terribly tasking job, unless you counted hunting down escaped chocolate frogs.

"No fight with a dragon this time?" her husband asked, seating himself as she lit their fireplace. It was not terribly cold, but they liked to keep it going. "I was sure you would come up with something else this year—a Nundu, perhaps, though how you would fit it onto the train is beyond me."

"Don't get your hopes up, I'm sure something else will try to get the drop on me," Hermione retorted, but her smile was warm. She leaned back on her heels as the fire sparked to life, warming the room. "It's not as though we don't have enough on our plates as it is. Isn't the Dark Lord bad enough?"

"Apparently not, as far as last year was concerned."

"Charlie was the Dark Lord's fault, mind. But it worked out in the end." Hermione got to her feet, and in two short strides, was by her husband's side. She kissed him. "And this year—some things are going to change."

"Are you still giving Draco lessons?"

Hermione chewed her lip as she considered how to answer, settling herself on the arm of his chair. "I would rather not." Severus raised an eyebrow at her, but allowed her to continue uninterrupted. "I have my—our—project to work on," she said meaningfully, "and in addition, I was thinking of working with… Harry."

He tilted his head to the side. "Do explain."

"I need to be able to study him without him knowing he's being studied."

Her husband gave her a calculating look. "Couldn't I just put him in detention with you?"

"That often?" Hermione asked skeptically.

He gave her a smirk. That familiar, trouble-promising smirk. "I can be _very_ creative with my reasons for assigning detentions."

Hermione let out a snort of laughter, trying to imagine her husband putting Harry in detentions for the sole purpose of helping figure out how to keep him alive. But she sobered up a moment later—the idea did have some degree of merit. It would be easier for her to be able to summon Harry whenever she needed him, rather than have to devote herself to weekly plans to train him. It could work.

"I'll offer advanced lessons for anyone interested, once a week," Hermione said, resting her chin on his shoulder. "But Draco has the apprenticeship sealed, and I unfortunately have more pressing matters to attend to with my time. Tri-weekly lessons are out of the question."

"I shall inform him tomorrow. He's been anxious to find out."

"In the meantime," Hermione said, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "please do arrange for Harry to have a detention next Saturday. Eight o'clock, preferably. It can't be done too often, but often enough should serve our purposes."

He smirked at her, his hands reaching up to grab her mane. "Done," he said, and sealed his lips against hers.

~o~O~o~

The next day, Severus was among the Heads of House who went down the line of students during breakfast to consult and confirm the schedules of their OWL and NEWT students.

"Mr. Malfoy, you're clear to continue the classes you took last year," he said lazily when he was half-way through the row; he tapped a blank schedule with his wand, where it immediately filled up with the necessary time-tables. Draco, who had looked both tense yet self-assured while waiting, let out an audible sigh. "You're free to go."

"And Professor Granger, sir?" Draco asked, standing up.

"She will be offering additional tutoring once a week to any interested students. I suspect she will put up a notice on the board by the end of the day."

"No more private lessons?" Draco asked, and Severus had the impression he was scrutinizing him carefully.

"She did not feel it would be necessary, given the progress you made last year," Severus responded dismissively.

"Thank you, sir," Draco said, knowing a compliment and a subtle implication to cease questioning when he heard it.

"And you—" he said, turning to the second-year student who had wormed himself a space next to Draco. "Last I recall, Mr. Black, you were not sorted into Slytherin. Ten points from Gryffindor for occupying the wrong table."

"I was just asking about chess," Selenius said, looking rather guilty. Several of the students along the table laughed unkindly at this; seeing Professor Snape pick on Gryffindor never failed to entertain them.

"Five points for cheek." His lips twitched, though whether in a sneer or a smirk, it was hard to say. "Leave."

He saw Selenius open his mouth, and then bite down on his tongue just as quickly. He got up and left, casting a quick glance back at Draco, who gave him a covert nod. He could have sworn he saw Selenius throw a smirk behind his back as Severus turned around, but he did not do himself the indignity of wheeling around to double-check.

As he moved onto the next student, he heard Nott lean forward and mutter, "Private lessons?"

The schedules were sorted out in good order, and he made his way to the dungeons to prepare for his first class. He had already dropped a rose in the vase Hermione kept on her desk, long before she had ever opened the classroom. He smirked at this bit of impertinence, a gesture that was not lost on the students who were already waiting by the classroom door.

He pulled it open.

"Inside."

They filed in, and he shut it behind him with a satisfying slam.

~o~O~o~

"As seventh years, this will be the last formal preparation you will ever receive for defending yourself against the Dark Arts," Hermione said, her words echoing in the classroom, clear and crisp. She tapped the chalk board by her desk, and it immediately began filling up with the details of the syllabus. There was a flutter of parchment and quills as the students got the hint and began copying it down. "The work load will be an enormous leap from last year's—no, don't look at me like that," she said, her eyes narrowing as groans and grumbles echoed throughout the room. "This is also an opportunity for it to be fun. You should be endowed with a healthy amount of familiarity and respect for the subject by now, which means we can move onto the more interesting aspects…"

Harry looked around the room. Almost four-fifths of the available desks were empty. Only seven other people had made it to this level. He supposed some of his classmates from last year hadn't scored high enough on their final exam. Ernie Macmillian had somehow managed to scrape by along with Terry Boot and Seamus Finnegan. Neville had passed with flying colors, though Harry had no doubt he'd put in considerable effort to do so. Ron, just barely. Theordore Nott of Slytherin had also passed and—much to Harry's displeasure—Draco Malfoy.

"I'd almost forgotten how much she loves the start of the year," Ron muttered in an undertone only Harry could hear.

"Seventh-year Defense is an opportunity for you to embrace challenge," Hermione continued.

Harry saw Ron's head slowly sink onto his desk at this declaration.

"So we will be working with a wide variety of subjects all at once, at their most advanced level—dark creatures, cursed objects, dangerous spells, debilitating enchantments…"

"We're going to die," Ron said, his voice muffled by the wood.

"Mr. Weasley?" Professor Granger's voice rang out. "Do you have something to add?"

Harry quickly leapt in to cover for him. "Ah, no—we were just wondering how you were going to…" he quickly cast about for a question, and grasped at Hermione's earlier statement, "teach all of this… at… once?"

Hermione nodded. "Good question," she said, but the glint in her eye told Harry she wasn't fooled by his quick cover. Ron hastily sat up. "And an excellent opportunity to segue into today's lesson."

The tension in the room rose at this, thick and palpable. Professor Granger smiled at them, and reached into her desk to pull out a book.

"How many of you brought your books with you?"

All hands slowly came up. Harry had not yet taken a look at this, though he now wondered if he ought to have; he didn't like the look Hermione was giving them. It bordered on gleefully malicious.

"How many of you tried to… read it?"

Two hands came up. Draco Malfoy and Terry Boot.

"Were either of you successful?"

Harry slowly glanced down at his bookbag, as though worried something might leap out and bite him.

Both students eyed Professor Granger sullenly, and at last, Terry Boot muttered, "No, Professor."

"Why ever not?" Hermione asked, in the most falsely innocent tone Harry had ever heard her use.

"Well it—because it attacked me, that's what!" Terry's face was turning redder by the minute. "It hit me with a Bat-Boogey Hex. And then a Jelly-Legs Jinx, when I opened it a second time. And then a third time—"

He broke off, his face flushed with humiliation. Harry had to wonder if Terry had bribed the Hat into putting him into Ravenclaw.

"Take your books out," Hermione instructed, and there was the sound of rustling as bags were pried apart and their contents searched. She was grinning, Harry could see, like an older child who knew something the younger ones didn't. The books came down on their desks, and Hermione held hers up for all to see.

"Everyone has their copy of _The Darkest Arte? _Good. Yes, Mr. Boot, I'm not surprised to hear that it had a go at you," Hermione said warmly, setting her book down. "You see, you need to be careful when you start opening books that offer up information on the Dark Arts—the more advanced ones tend to have a bit of bite to them."

She was enjoying this, Harry could tell.

"What do you mean, 'bite'?" Ron interjected. "They're not like _The Monster Book of Monsters,_ are they? Those nutty books from Care of Magical Creatures…"

"As a matter of fact, they are," Hermione said, beaming at him. "Only worse."

There were a few muttered groans, but everyone snapped to attention at this.

"I would have assigned you that very book, Mr. Weasley, except it offers nothing on the Dark Arts themselves," Hermione said, tracing the letters on the cover of her book with a single finger. The Gaunt Ring flashed at them as she did so, glinting in the mid-morning sunlight streaming through the window above her. "But I'm glad you brought it up. It's a perfect example of a rather unique and interesting sort of magical artifact that you might come across. You lot are familiar with cursed objects, but that book is an example of an _enchanted_ object. You'll be writing me a six-inch essay on that for tomorrow—assuming you can get the book to open without being attacked."

Harry and Ron exchanged glances with each other and then with Neville, and all three of them shook their heads ever so slightly in trepidation.

"You see, some writers give objects a life of their own," Hermione said, now quite warmed up on the subject. "Books are the most commonly enchanted example you will ever find. Socks, too, though they tend to be much more benign—they might scream at you if they go too long without a wash. Unlike cursed objects, which can be rendered harmless, enchanted objects are a bit more tricky—and often have to be bargained with."

She grinned at them.

"Now, why don't you try to figure out what your book wants as payment?"

Apprehensive gazes were thrown around the room as they began molesting their books. Ron began stroking the spine, as though hoping that might tame it the way it did with the fur-covered book they had dealt with in third year, to no avail. Ernie Macmillian threw his teacher a surreptitious glance before pulling the book under his desk and smacking it against the leg of his chair, as though trying to quietly beat it into submission. Terry Boot was knocked out of his chair with a Jelly-Legs Jinx five minutes into the attempt after trying to forcefully open it, and had to wriggle over to where his wand had fallen before he could reverse the hex.

"None of the curses in these books are permanently damaging, of course, but they do give you an idea of what to expect regarding their behavior," Hermione called, once the laughter had subsided. "This should be a bit of a challenge, but if you paid attention in class at all last year and managed to pass your sixth-year exam, then you should be fully capable of this."

Ron turned to look at Harry, giving him a pleading look that clearly said _help me._

Harry pursed his lips and stared at the unyielding cover of his book, thinking. But he was not contemplating how to open it, oh no—rather, he was thinking about his father's map. The Marauder's Map. Was that enchanted, then? It certainly seemed to have a life of its own—it required a password to operate, but when improperly addressed—as Snape had found out in Harry's third year—the personalities of its creators appeared instead with plenty of pointed insults.

"_I solemnly swear I am up to no good,"_ Harry whispered under his breath, tapping the book with his wand.

"What?" Ron asked blankly.

"Nothing," Harry said, fingering his wand. He recalled how Snape had tried to address the Marauder's Map at first, and decided to subtly follow his lead with _The Darkest Arte—_he had nothing to lose. He tapped the cover again, with a muttered, "_Reveal your secret!"_

The cover shuddered for a moment, and then flopped open with obvious reluctance. It was subdued by his command. Harry blinked. Ron's jaw dropped.

Professor Granger said nothing for a moment, and appeared to be struck speechless. The entire class was staring at Harry in obvious astonishment. And then she rallied at once.

"Fifteen points to Gryffindor, Mr. Potter," she said, looking rather composed despite her obvious surprise and delight. "Excellent."

"You know what this means?" Harry said to Ron, as soon as they were out of the classroom.

"It means you're a bloody genius," Ron said, kissing the cover of his book before stuffing it back into his bag. "Now I'll be able to do that essay."

"No—listen," Harry said, as they ascended the stairs. "The Marauder's Map. When Snape tried to catch me sneaking out to Hogsmeade in third year, he used the same opening phrase as I did in class just now—'reveal your secret'."

"That just means he already read the book and decided to try bullying the Map with the same order. No surprises there, right?"

"But remember what I told you?" Harry persisted. "After that, he tried something else, and instead of revealing itself, the Map—"

"Started insulting him, yeah, I remember," Ron said, slowly drawing to a halt. "What's your point?"

Harry looked at him expectantly. Ron frowned.

"You're not—you're not saying you think the Map's _enchanted_, are you?"

"It makes sense," Harry insisted. "It's not just a magical map of Hogwarts—it has part of the creators' personalities in them. Those insults weren't just for anybody, they were specifically what they would have called Snape, if they'd been there. They—I don't know," he admitted. "I'm going to have to actually read the chapter she assigned to make sure I'm not off my broomstick on this, but makes me think that the Map is just like the Monster Book of Monsters. It's got a life of its own."

Ron's eyebrows had risen so far that they were blending into his hair. He was grinning from ear to ear.

"It's more than just a piece of parchment with a magical password," Harry said firmly.

"Wicked," Ron breathed. "But what do you think you're going to get out of it?"

Harry hesitated, reluctant to admit it. It seemed like such a foolish dream—wild, beyond wild, simply impossible—but Ron was his best mate, and he knew that with something serious like his, he wouldn't laugh.

"It—it occurred to me that I might find a way to talk to my dad," Harry admitted quietly. "Since he was one of the creators."

To Ron's credence, he didn't laugh. He didn't even crack a smile. His expression was perfectly serious.

"We should ask Hermione," he said in an undertone, as several fourth-year Ravenclaws marched past them. "She'd know, wouldn't she?"

"She became a Marauder long after the Map was made," Harry said, but he glanced back in the direction of the classroom, wondering if there was enough time to double-back and ask her. "It might not have occurred to her."

"But she's still the expert, isn't she?"

"We'll ask her after class," Harry said decisively, checking his watch. "Come on—it's Potions next— we don't want to be late."

"Two Snapes in the morning," Ron muttered as they made their way down to the dungeons. "I love this year's schedule already."

The dungeons were as cold as ever, and the classroom's primary occupant was as uninviting as always. Still, Harry and Ron found a table next to Ernie, and sat quietly as Snape began. There was the expected lecture about final exams, the all-important, all-encompassing NEWTs they would be taking at the end of the year, and then Snape set them to work. He appeared to be in an especially foul mood, and Harry ducked his head and tried to make himself as invisible as possible.

Snape had set them a rather tricky potion that would take weeks to brew, but it was only by strong self-preservative instinct that none of them had laughed when it had been assigned. There had been a few snorts from the Slytherins in the room, but Snape had ignored them. Amortentia. The most powerful love potion in the world, according to Snape, and one of the most dangerous potions they would ever brew. Harry believed him. He knew Snape would hardly expound upon the complex nature of desire, but Harry had to admit one thing: aside from his previous encounters with love—regarding his mother's protection, for instance—Harry had to admit that seeing what love did to Hermione and Snape was pretty terrifying.

Snape was watching them all like a hawk, and Harry found himself hovering almost protectively over his potion when the Potions Master passed by. Snape was not in a visibly foul mood, but there was something about him that had Harry on edge, as though Snape was waiting for Harry to make a mistake so that he could swoop down and take house points. Harry had been somewhat mediocre at Potions in previous years, but in the last two years, he'd had to give it his full effort with his goal of being an Auror in mind. He was much more competent now. He could do this.

Ten minutes later, he discovered he could not. His potion, which was supposed to be teal, was instead an ugly purple. He stared down at it in dismay, wondering what could have possibly gone wrong, when Snape appeared behind him.

"Potter, did you or did you not check to see if the Ashwinder Eggs were expired before you chucked them into your cauldron?"

Harry had not. He did now, apprehensively picking one up and squeezing it slightly; the shell gave way, and raw, yucky goo spilled out between his fingers. He groaned in despair. They had gone sour.

"You're all seventh-year students now—it is now your undeniably delightful task to make sure that the materials are all in satisfactory condition before using them." Snape was sneering down at him, but Harry detected a trace of cruel amusement in his cold eyes, and he knew. He knew that somehow, Snape had found a way to sabotage him. "Detention, Potter, for ruining perfectly good ingredients along with the bad due to your lack of diligence. Professor Granger will supervise your detention. Eight o'clock." A flick of his wand, and Harry's ruined potion vanished. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor. Again."

Harry sourly noted that there was a slight spring in Snape's step as he moved away.

~o~O~o~

"_I solemnly swear I am up to no good,"_ Harry muttered, tapping the Map with his wand. It immediately unfolded, and he and Ron were huddled on the floor by Ron's bed, perusing it. _The Darkest Arte _lay open on the carpet beside them. Harry found himself reflecting that if Hermione were here—not Professor Granger, but the Hermione who had gone to school with them—this would be what she would be doing instead of them. They would be doing homework, or off playing Quidditch, if given half a chance.

"Alright, let's try to figure this out," Harry said, scanning the map. "I've got half an hour before my detention, and everyone else is at dinner."

"Except Hermione. She's in the classroom," Ron said, surveying the classroom. "And—"

He broke off suddenly, and it was immediately apparent why.

"Snape's with her."

There was a moment of silence as they saw the footprints. Snape had just walked in; Hermione's footprints hurried over to his, and then they both walked over to the window at the front of the classroom, footprints overlapping against the wall. And then Hermione's footprint moved over the desk, facing away from the wall; they were closely followed by Snape's, and then they both stayed there.

Harry and Ron looked at each other.

Ron cleared his throat.

"Well—okay. The book gives a pretty good description. Does the Map fit?"

Harry deactivated the Map, and then tapped it with his wand.

"Prongs?" he asked.

The paper remained blank.

"Moony?" he said, rapping it again. Nothing. "Padfoot?"

The Map remained quiescent. Ron chortled next to him.

"I am Harry James Potter, and—er—ask that you reveal your secret!"

For a moment, Harry thought this too would yield nothing. And then his eyes slowly widened as writing began to scribble itself across the otherwise blank, yellowing parchment.

_Mr. Moony would like to present his compliments to Mr. Potter on successfully using the Map, and recommends you use it to achieve as much pranking as humanly possible._

"Whoa…" Ron said.

_Mr. Prongs agrees with Mr. Moony and would like to convey his great pride in having his son carry on the tradition of using the Map for the purpose of making mischief._

Ron was doubled over in silent laughter.

_Mr. Padfoot would like to extend his compliments to Mr. Potter, and suggests that he ditch his detention in favor of unscheduled mayhem._

"Unbelievable," Ron chortled.

"It could be worse," Harry said baldly. "I thought Snape was going to have a fit when he saw what they wrote about him."

_Mr. Wormtail would like to wisely add that Mr. Potter ought to look into tickling the pear in the corridor outside the kitchens, should he ever find himself in need of food._

"Well," Harry said blankly. He wasn't sure what to think. Part of him was elated, but another part was equally disappointed. He had expected something more, something along the lines of the rapport he'd had in the short time he had used Riddle's Diary. "What d'you think? Is it enchanted or what?"

"It's certainly got personality," Ron said, grinning. And then his face fell. "It's almost like how it was with that diary, the one that got Ginny. It talks back to you, doesn't it?"

"But the Map isn't Riddle's Diary," Harry said, a bit defensively.

"No, it's not, but that's cause it's just a tool for making mischief, isn't it?" Ron said. "The principle's still the same. Put a piece of personality into the page so that people can talk to you after you're gone."

"Voldemort split his soul and stuck it into the diary," Harry argued, and then his face fell. "This is more like a ghost—they're just… imprints."

"Just not imprints of a departed soul."

"Yeah."

They both sat there in silence. Harry felt his heart clench. He had so been hoping that there was a tiny piece of his father left that he could contact. And yet, that piece, that tiny scrap—it was less than a shadow of the man.

But a niggling part of his mind also pointed out that the map was, apparently, also gifted with the ability to understand what was happening around it. A faint level of awareness, probably the same kind as a Sneakoscope. It knew Harry had a detention. It knew Harry was Prong's son. And it was also capable of dispensing advice, though whether it was _sound_ advice was an entirely different matter.

"You should go," Ron said, glancing down at Harry's watch, trying to read it upside-down. "Your detention's in ten minutes."

Harry checked the map once more, just to make sure the coast was clear—Snape had thankfully retreated to his office in the dungeons and Hermione was pacing her classroom—and then got up to leave.

He passed by Selenius, who was sitting in a corner of the common room, nursing his left hand.

"Everything all right?" Harry asked, stopping before the portrait hole to look at him.

"Got bitten by a fanged frisbee," Selenius mumbled. "I'm fine."

"Well, tell them to put it up next time or Ron'll confiscate it," Harry suggested.

"I said I'm fine!"

Harry shrugged, and then left.

* * *

**Please review!**

**~Anubis Ankh**


	26. Chapter 28 & 29

**A/N: Tuesday update, yay! **

**I have exciting news. I've been accepted to both of my top two choices for college. Now it's just time to decide which one to go to. It's amazing, sitting here and realizing I'm going to college next fall only to remember that I'm _still_ posting this story!**

_Next week will be very busy for me. Because of that, I am posting a double chapter._

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

**Please review!**

* * *

When Harry arrived for detention, Hermione had already recomposed herself and was seated, deep in thought. She already pulled out her most refined and compressed notes and had them spread out over her desk, and was poring over them, trying to make sense of the many variables she would have to calculate for if her ritual was to work. She had been at it for two hours before Harry's detention, and had run out of energy and ideas by the time Severus had arrived to check in with her.

She had wasted no time. She'd grabbed him and dragged him to the window at the front of the classroom, pressing him against the glass and snogging him senseless. He had wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly before spinning her around and pushing her face-down on the desk. He had then proceeded to fuck her senseless, though it was quite possible it had been the other way around, all things considered—Hermione was not a passive lover. It was a delightful way to take a break—Hermione's brain had been about ready to fizzle out from fruitless attempts to mix and match arithmantic equations on Harry's protection—_Lily's protection—_ with her runic layouts. Now she was feeling rejuvenated and able to sit down and give her notes a fresh look.

Sex could do wonders for her thought process when she needed it most. Thank Merlin she had a husband who knew that.

Harry was looking at her oddly as he approached the desk.

"Er—what will I be doing for detention?"

Hermione waved him over to a pile of books stacked three feet high on one of the desks. "Those are for my fourth years. I need you to curse each one of them and put a lock on them. Make it challenging to break, and give them a little variety—anything from Jelly-Legs Jinx to Bat-Boogey Hex will do just fine."

Harry gave her a wan smile, and Hermione had the sense he was hiding something. "Planning to give them a bit of a shock?"

Hermione gave him a tired grin. "Something like that."

"You know you're going to put them off reading if you keep cursing books," Harry remarked, as he pulled the first one out and readied his wand. Hermione watched him closely. "Maybe you should start with socks, instead."

"I would, but I'd hate to be responsible for students walking around without proper footwear."

Harry snorted, but found a table and at once set about imbuing copies of _Defensive Magical Theory_ with low-level curses. He found himself grimly enjoying the fact that they were all abandoned editions from Umbridge's reign. Hermione apparently couldn't let a book go to waste, no matter how theoretically useless they were. Harry doubted her students would be using the books as reading material.

Hermione leaned forward on her desk, folding her hands together and considering him thoughtfully. She needed information, and it was something that—were she on the same side as the Headmaster—she could ask him for. But she would have to settle for going about it in a roundabout manner.

"Harry, has anyone ever spoken to you about the protections Lily's sacrifice gave you?" she asked.

Harry nearly dropped the book he was about to hex, completely caught off guard. "What?"

"The protection Lily's death created for you," Hermione repeated evenly. "Has anyone ever spoken to you about it?"

"A bit," Harry admitted, lowering his wand. "My mum—my mum refused to stand aside when Voldemort told her to, so she died protecting me out of love. But it doesn't matter now," he added bitterly, dropping the book back onto the table. "Voldemort found a way to get around it."

Hermione made a noise in her throat. "But when the Dark Lord tried to possess you two years ago in Malfoy Manor, he couldn't."

"That's wasn't because of my mum's protection," Harry explained. "Dumbledore said it was because he couldn't stand to be so close to someone so full of—well— love. That's how he put it, anyway," he added, making a face. "Something about his mangled soul not being able to touch mine without pain."

Hermione frowned at this, twirling her wand as she absorbed the implications of this, but said nothing more.

In the silence that followed, Harry was tempted to ask Hermione about the Map—to pull it out and have her look at it—but something held him back. She was gazing at the pile of books with a familiar thousand-yard stare that indicated she was lost in her own head, and something—just a tiny something—told Harry that perhaps telling her wasn't the best idea. If Hermione found out the Map could dispense advice (and he had no doubt she would with a thorough examination) he was half afraid that she might confiscate it so that she could study it.

A tiny part of Harry had already decided he wanted to be the one to uncover the secrets behind his father's map.

So he kept his lips sealed and continued hexing books until Hermione finally dismissed him.

~o~O~o~

Hermione returned to their quarters that evening to find Severus and Selenius sitting in front of the fire, a game of chess laid out between them. She smiled at unwittingly stumbling across one of the rare stolen moments between father and son, retreating to the bedroom to pull on a nightrobe before returning to the living room. Crookshanks was there as well, lying curled up in front of the fire, as content as a cat could be.

She kissed her son on the top of his head and then kissed her husband in greeting before sitting down between them, magicking a kettle to heat up and begin pouring the boiling water into summoned teacups. She added the leaves, stirring as they continued their game. She was surprised to find Selenius here, but more than pleasantly so. He didn't even push her away with his usual gruff complaint of "Mum!" when she laid an arm around his shoulder and kissed him again.

Instead, he said, "Missed you."

Hermione looked up at Severus, unable to speak, but when their eyes met, they spoke volumes: Hermione's heart melted, and she could see that her husband's eyes had turned uncharacteristically soft.

They played chess until long past curfew.

It was not until after Selenius left, with an excusatory note in his hand should Filch catch him, that Hermione curled on the rug next to Severus.

"I see him in class nearly every day, and I still miss him," she said quietly. "How do you stand it?"

Severus was silent for a moment that stretched painfully, and then he said, "I try to put him out of my mind." He stroked her hair, and then let out a resigned sigh. "Under the constant scrutiny of the Dark Lord, I cannot afford to think of him…"

There was a moment of hesitation, and then he continued:

"This year, I have decided to try and spend more time with him, and have more faith in my Occlumency skills. We will try." He nuzzled her cheek. "It took me long enough to learn that time is too precious to squander away hoping for better moments to spend it. Last year was painful, in this regard."

"Don't I know it," Hermione whispered.

He wound his fingers through her curls, giving them a slight tug; Hermione shifted, moving until he was in his lap, and then he rested his chin atop her head. "We must be careful not to pay him too much attention. Mustn't show overt favoritism. But… in private… where we can—" he broke off, and then said rather heavily, "I am tired of letting my duties as a spy get in the way of my duties as a father."

Hermione felt the same, but bit her lower lip in uncertainty. On one hand, she badly—so badly that it hurt—wanted to put Selenius first in everything. But if she did, in the long run, how would that harm his future? If either of them slipped up, or made a tiny but fatal mistake, it would be all over. Even Severus couldn't talk his way out of severe repercussions from the Dark Lord, no matter what kind of silver tongue he had.

And they were adamant that they would never force their son to stand before the Dark Lord. They would run, they would hide, would secret him away to the other side of the earth before they would let that happen.

But surely… in the privacy of their quarters, where they could compartmentalize their memories of him and squirrel them away… surely they could have their stolen moments as a family?

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed her cheek against his. "I understand." She felt him relax ever so slightly, and with the air of wanting to get something over with as quickly as possible, she quickly switched track. "On another note, Harry's detention was a success. I grabbed the opportunity to ask him about Lily's protection."

"I thought you were merely planning to observe him," Severus rumbled.

"Oh, I was, and I found out a few interesting things—but the most important thing by far is that I don't think the protection will have any impact on the ritual."

"I'm sensing a 'but' here," Severus muttered.

"There is." Hermione stroked his cheek with a finger, and sighed. "Right now, Lily's protection has been rendered negligible. It's still there, but it no longer works, because the Dark Lord found a way around it. But you're right—there is something else." She took a moment to gather herself, and then continued, "I spent quite a bit of time trying to interpret something else Harry told me. We know the Dark Lord can physically touch Harry, but he cannot touch his mind too deeply without incurring grievous pain—and I finally understand. Harry is…" she waved a hand. "He is naïve. He's everything the Dark Lord is not. He's whole—whole in a way even normal people aren't. Harry is emotionally connected. Capable of love. Highly empathetic. He's extremely sensitive to the feelings of others and his own."

She could tell her husband was patiently waiting for her to get to the point.

"Two years ago, when Harry was unhappy, frightened, and severely demoralized… the connection between them strengthened. Last year, Harry led a comparably normal and emotionally healthy life, and the Dark Lord never once broke through."

"That's because the Dark Lord was specifically trying to Occlude himself against Potter—"

"He's still doing that, but he does occasionally leak through, if unintentionally," Hermione riposted. "We saw that just a few weeks ago, and even so, Harry was able to force him out. But during that year, Harry—Harry was _happy_. There was a lot going on, to be sure, but everything was going well for him. Classes, Quidditch, Ginny—"

"Spare me the mental imagery, if you please."

Hermione tapped his lips with a finger, indicating he should shush. "And the Dark Lord never once broke through, not even when he was frustrated or enraged. As we know he was, many times over the last year."

Severus's eyes glittered as he took this in. "What does this have to do with the ritual?"

"I'm getting to that. The piece of the Dark Lord's soul that's attached to Harry—I'll be looking up a diagnostic spell to get a better look just to be sure, mind—but if the Dark Lord himself couldn't bear to touch Harry's mind except when Harry's unbearably unhappy—"

"Souls? I thought we were speaking of minds."

"But they're the same with Harry, don't you see?" Hermione said, her face flush with excitement. "As long as Harry's happy, as long as his emotional needs are met—friendship, love, the pursuit of dreams or goals—so long as he has those, the Dark Lord won't—can't— touch him, and quite possibly, the piece of soul latched onto him will be weakened as well!"

"That's quite a leap of logic," Severus said slowly, curling his hands around her shoulders. "And even if its hold on Potter is weakened—what does that mean?"

"It means," Hermione said, not quite meeting Severus's eyes. "It means… that if Harry were aware of it… if he wanted to… he could theoretically affect the piece of soul latched onto him."

"I'm not following."

"We both read the book on Horcruxes," Hermione reminded him.

Severus scoffed. "You think Potter could convince the Dark Lord to feel _remorse_ for the atrocities he's committed?"

"No," Hermione admitted slowly. "It would be a wonderful plan if I thought Harry could, and it would be ever so convenient. But I rather think that perhaps… it's Harry's turn to exploit the link. And now that we have a better idea of what it entails, I'm sure we can do it without strengthening it in the process."

Severus stared at her for a long moment. Hermione saw his expression fluctuate between incredulous and stupefied, before settling on sneering disdain.

"You're out of your mind," he said flatly.

His wife gave him a wicked grin.

"Want to find out?"

~o~O~o~

"It's very simple," Hermione said, after they had spent a full hour compiling their notes. "I'm working on the ritual, we're waiting for the Philosopher's Stone to mature, and in the meantime, Harry can make himself a thorn in the Dark Lord's side."

"He already is," Severus muttered.

"Moreso. Harry had difficulty blocking out the Dark Lord, but he had very little trouble getting inside. Now," Hermione said, tapping a sheet of parchment. "When the Dark Lord invaded Harry's mind, it always gave Harry the mother of all headaches—now, if I'm right, if Harry tries to get inside the Dark Lord's head… and if he does _exactly_ what we tell him to…"

"He'll get a taste of his own medicine," Severus said, still eyeing Hermione's outline warily.

"The Dark Lord can't touch Harry when he's happy, so if Harry does this while focusing on the same things that he would use to ward of Dementors, he'll manage." Hermione beamed at him. "Fitting, isn't it, that Harry is particularly talented at casting a Patronus?"

"Fascinating," Severus said coldly, "but this plan is still reckless, dangerous— unnecessary."

Hermione chewed on her lower lip, wondering how much to tell him. The truth was that this was far from unnecessary, it was their vital ace in the hole. Severus might be in a high position within Voldemort's ranks, but Hermione had not quite made him entirely privy to the situation within the Ministry—information that the Dark Lord was also blind to, given that his spy network had been almost entirely expunged.

"We have just under a year before we can remove the piece of the Dark Lord's soul from Harry's," Hermione finally said, with forced calm. "Let's make the most of it."

Severus gritted his teeth. "It is a foolhardy endeavor. And if the Headmaster caught wind of it—"

"He won't."

"Potter will go running off to Dumbledore at the merest suggestion—"

"He won't," Hermione insisted.

"For Merlin's sake, woman, _why_?"

Hermione considered him for a moment.

"Curiosity killed the cat," she said at last. "Satisfaction brought him back."

She held up a finger, pressing it to Severus's lips to stop him from responding, and then slowly kissed him.

"But, of course, I have a few things to check before I finalize this particular… plan."

~o~O~o~

"…And don't forget, your essay on music-based curses is due next Friday!" Hermione called, as her seventh-years left the classroom. "Ha—Oi, Potter! Stay behind for a moment, if you please."

Harry stumbled and did a double-take before turning around and walking to the front of the classroom. "Yes, Professor?"

"You have Potions next class, don't you?"

Harry grimaced. For some inexplicable reason, Snape had managed to find ways to assign him a detention every other week, for the past six weeks. And always with Hermione. He had begun to suspect that something was up, given that she always watched him like a hawk, but Hermione never assigned him anything more tasking than hexing books or cleaning desks. He had written it off as Snape being particularly vindictive, and Hermione making sure he didn't try to get out of doing detention because of their friendship.

"Today, I want you to do something detention-worthy in class."

Harry frowned at her, wondering if she had finally lost her mind.

"He'll assign you a detention with me. I have something to show you."

"And you couldn't have shown me the last few times I was in detention?" Harry asked sullenly.

Hermione laughed. "Nope. But it's worth it, I promise you."

She paused for a moment, and then said, "And bring Ron with you. Ginny, too."

"Why?" Harry asked suspiciously. He trusted Hermione, but he had long since learned that Hermione Snape occasionally had plans that rivaled the Headmaster's in sheer battiness.

But Hermione merely waved him off. "Go on, don't be late. That'll just earn you point loss, instead of a detention." Harry turned to leave, and she called, "And eat plenty of chocolate at dinner!"

Ron waited until they reached the stairs to interrogate him. "So what'd she want?"

"I've no clue, but I've got to earn my detention with Snape this time," Harry said grimly.

"What, you've been getting them on purpose?"

"Apparently." The stair gave a lurch beneath them, and began to rotate toward the next landing. "She wants me to bring you and Ginny with me, tonight. She's got something up her sleeve, I just can't figure out what."

"I've been meaning to ask you about the Map," Ron said, keeping his voice down as they made their way into the dungeons. "Got anything else off it?"

Harry paused for a moment, glancing around the corridor before leaning in to Ron.

"The Map's noticed something's up in the Library."

"What?" Ron asked, frowning.

"The Map—the Marauders know no one's supposed to be out past curfew, but this morning, it told me that some students have been skulking around the library at night for the past few weeks." Harry quickly checked over his shoulder to make sure no one was coming, and then added, "I'll watch it tonight."

"Unbelievable," Ron breathed, as they continued their descent. "We should have tried this _ages_ ago."

The minute they entered the classroom, it became immediately apparent to Harry that Snape had it out for him. There was an edge of cruel glee in the tilt of his thin smile, as he informed them that they would be receiving their first major grade upon the completion of their attempted _Amortentia_. Harry sank low in his seat, knowing that while his was a perfectly acceptable shade of color for its current stage—and given that he had been ruthlessly guarding it for the past six weeks, carefully checking all ingredients and covering his cauldron whenever Snape or another student passed by, he intended for it to stay that way—he was still certain that Snape would give him a less than satisfactory grade for it if it was the slightest bit off.

When Snape had turned his back to them to spell the day's instructions on the board, Ron elbowed him and muttered into Harry's ear:

"If he fails me for this, I swear I'm poisoning him."

"Seconded," Harry whispered.

He spent the lesson focusing on completing his potion, with Snape watching him like a hawk. At last, when Snape finally turned his attention away from Harry to check Malfoy's potion, he pounced. He stuffed his wand underneath the table, pointing it directly at Malfoy's jar of pickled oysters, and silently banished it. The jar slammed into the opposite wall, smearing oysters everywhere. Snape wheeled around.

_Here goes,_ Harry thought, as Snape locked onto him.

When Harry left the classroom twenty minutes later, Gryffindor was short fifty points, and he had earned himself another detention, Ron chortling by his side as they headed off to Herbology.

~o~O~o~

Whatever Harry had been expecting, this was not it.

"You want me to _what?"_

Hermione leaned back in her chair, fingertips pressed together.

"I have this remarkably mad idea that your psyche is as painful for the Dark Lord to come into contact with as it is for him to invade yours," she replied, her face masked by utter calmness. "Thus far, everything that's happened supports my hypothesis, and what better way to confirm it than to try it out?"

"I spent my entire fifth year trying to keep him out—" Harry spluttered.

"—and now it will be his turn to keep you out. It's different, don't you see?" Hermione continued patiently. "Before, you were on the defensive. It was your mind that was at stake. Now I'm asking you to go on the offensive."

Ron and Ginny were standing stock still on either side of Harry, listening to their heated exchange, too gobsmacked to speak.

"It was exceptionally easy for the Dark Lord to access your mind in your fifth year because of the mental state you were in at the time," Hermione explained, twisting Gaunt's ring around on her finger. "You were depressed, unhappy, demoralized, experiencing a dearth of negative emotions— that was what you had going on at the surface. But when the Dark Lord tried to directly take over your mind back at Malfoy Manor, he went straight for the core of who you are, and he didn't like it one bit."

Harry's mouth fell open, and then shut with a snap.

"But—it's too dangerous," Ginny finally managed to squeak. She was looking at Hermione as though she rather did not know what to make of her. "Couldn't he—you know—turn on Harry while Harry's attacking his mind?"

"Not if Harry follows my instructions to the letter," Hermione said. There was a secretive smile playing around her lips. "It's also the reason I've called you here. The Dark Lord is incapable of tolerating close contact with manifestations of love, and if love is what Harry is focused on while completing this task, I have no doubt the Dark Lord will be at his mercy."

"I don't like this," Ron said uneasily.

"Neither do I," Harry said firmly. Even so, he couldn't help mulling over Hermione's words—they did make a perverse sort of sense to him. Part of him was itching to try it.

Hermione was stroking her lips with one finger, chewing on the tip, frowning in a combination of consternation and consideration.

"You once said… you wanted to use your link… to save lives," she said slowly.

"That was before I found out what it was like to have him try and possess me," Harry muttered defensively.

"That was when we hardly had a good grasp of the true nature of the link," Hermione said quietly. "Our priority then was keeping you safe, giving you the tools you needed to defend yourself."

Ron shuffled his feet, looking down at the floor. "There are other ways to go on the offensive," he said, not meeting Hermione's eyes.

"At this stage in the game, there really isn't," Hermione confessed. "We're trying to keep it hushed, but the truth is that the Dark Lord is growing in power. Soon, the Ministry won't be able to handle the onslaught." She bit down on her finger in a nervous sort of jerk. "Our best bet is to steal what information we can from him, and provoke him into an early attack before he's finished bulking up his forces. To do that, we need to hit him directly."

The three Gryffindors gazed at her silently, their faces lined with suspicion and fear.

"It won't be easy, and the rewards will be small at first," Hermione admitted. "It will take time to figure out how to invade the Dark Lord's mind without drawing attention to yourself, and will require exacting patience. If I had a choice, I would find a way to do it myself, going through you to get to him—but I'd rather not do that unless absolutely necessary."

"Why not?" Ginny pressed. "You'd be much better at it than Harry, he's got all the grace of a bull in a china shop."

"Thanks, Ginny."

Hermione smiled in faint amusement, but then her expression turned serious as she gave the youngest Weasley her answer.

"Because if the Dark Lord discovered it was me rummaging through his mind—and he would most certainly be able to tell—the price of damage control might be too high."

There was a moment of silence, and then Harry finally made a decision.

"I'll do it."

~o~O~o~

Harry sat cross-legged on the floor, his eyes closed. Ginny was holding his right hand in both of hers, watching him with care and concern as he slowly meditated. Ron was sitting next to him, shoulder to shoulder. Hermione knelt directly in front of him, her hands braced on the floor. Harry's eyes blinked open twice, glancing around at three of the many people who meant the world to him.

"Are you ready, Harry?" Hermione's expression was surprisingly gentle.

Harry nodded.

"Go."

And Harry did. He began feeling around for the same wispy connection that he had often grappled for, during the months he had been sharing obsessive dreams with Voldemort about the Department of Mysteries. It was difficult to locate at first, like finding a quill that someone had taken from the inkwell and stuffed under a rock, but after several minutes of searching, he found it and latched on.

The words that escaped him were barely a whisper. "Found it."

"Good," Hermione murmured. "Go gently, Harry. Move with caution."

Harry did, slowly moving forward along the link. It made him think of the rope-climbing sessions he had been forced to take at school. The teacher would stand at the base of the rope, yelling at them to get a move-on as they tried to climb the thick weave to the ceiling. It would get harder the further up they climbed. The rope would dig into their hands. Their palms would sweat and loosen their grip, making them terrified of falling and hitting the ground below. Their arms would ache and they would feel ridiculous, clinging to the rope with all four limbs like a frightened monkey. This was not so different. Harry's side of the link was easier to exploit, but as he neared Voldemort's consciousness, it became harder.

It hadn't been this difficult before, but that was because Voldemort had not been trying to keep him out, and—as soon as he became aware of the link—had made it all the easier by trying to hand-feed it to him. Still, Harry thought that this was probably the closest anyone had come to touching the despot's mind. He reached the end, and then began to slide forward, feeling as though he were gliding through a watery window.

The window was deceptively solid. It was like bumping one's head against a wall of ice. Harry pushed against it without success, and remembering Hermione's earlier instructions, began to think of Ginny. How much she meant to him. How lucky he was to have her. All those crazy, silly things she did to make him feel like a normal person instead of a celebrity, now that she was old enough to understand that all he wanted was to be treated like a person. And then there was Ron, who was always by his side when he needed him the most—

The ice began to melt, and Harry slowly pushed through the mushy mess that had been Voldemort's defense against him before it could reharden.

_"And what of the Stone?" Harry demanded, his voice high and cold as he gazed down at Avery, who was kneeling at his feet._

_"My lord, there's been no word on the Stone." The man dared glance up at him, and added, "We interrogated the Goblins… they said no one has attempted to deposit anything resembling its description."_

_Harry could feel his jaw tense as rage slowly began to set in, but when he spoke, his words were deceptively soft. "And the Giants?"_

_"The Giants—the Giants have… declined to ally themselves, my lord," Avery said, with a glance at the other man in the room with him. Mulciber was similarly prostrated, though silent; a gash on his cheek was the only evidence that he had already delivered a report that the Dark Lord had not been pleased to hear. "They don't realize what a generous offer you gave them—"_

_"And you simply allowed them to walk away?" Voldemort asked, as though he were inquiring about the weather, but there was a sense of underlying danger to his tone. "After two years of bargaining?"_

_"They—they are extremely grateful for your patience, my lord, as they went through a… an extremely difficult political time." Avery winced. "We had to renegotiate with six different Gurgs before the seventh became the—the final and stable one."_

_"I see." Voldemort turned away, and the two men—understanding they were dismissed—quickly scrambled up to leave. _

Harry sensed it was time to go before Voldemort became too introspective, and slowly pulled away, sliding back down the link the way he had come. It was easier coming out than going in, now that he knew the trick, and he found himself feeling rather light and unburdened as he left, this time thinking of his godmother. What a brilliant woman she was, to come up with this. The mental ice resealed, and Harry slowly moved back down the link, sliding faster and faster until he hit his body again.

His eyes snapped open. All three of them were peering forward at him, their faces lit with unmistakable eagerness and curiosity and a touch of concern.

"Did it work?" Ron demanded.

"Yes," Harry breathed, sitting up. "Hermione, you're amazing."

"It worked?" Ginny said, looking astonished. "You mean you were really in—in You-Know-Who's mind?"

"He's looking for the Philosopher's Stone," Harry said, blinking several times, as though to make sure he was back in his own body. He moved his hands, closing them and feeling their warmth around Ginny's smaller ones. Ron looked at him as though he was crazy, but he ignored it. "And the Giants told him no—looks like none of the other Gurgs lasted long enough for an agreement to last until now, and the current one wants nothing to do with them."

"Brilliant," Hermione whispered. She seemed awed. "Merlin—it really did work." She was chewing on her thumb in earnest now. "We already knew he was looking for the Stone, but we had no idea about the giants. We knew he was courting them."

Ginny had pulled her hands free of Harry's and wrapped both her arms around his neck, looking both shocked and relieved. Ron was shaking his head, but he couldn't hide the grin on his face. Hermione, unable to stop herself, pulled Harry into a hug.

"You are bloody amazing, you know that?" she asked, squeezing tightly.

~o~O~o~

"Pepper Imps."

The Gargoyle jumped aside, and Harry strode up the stairs to Dumbledore's office. He had received a missive for his first private lesson earlier that day, and was looking forward to seeing what Dumbledore had to show him.

"Good evening, Harry," Dumbledore said, when Harry stepped in. "I trust you've been enjoying yourself this term?"

"Erm," Harry said, unsure of how to answer.

"Aside from your many detentions, of course."

"Oh—well, yes," Harry said. He wasn't about to tell Dumbledore exactly what the detentions were being assigned for. Hermione had indicated, in no uncertain terms, that it was to be kept a secret between the four of them. He wasn't even supposed to tell Sirius, whom he normally owled everything he could fit into a letter. And Harry could see the logic in it—Dumbledore wanted him to keep Harry as far away from Voldemort as possible, and would not be happy with Hermione's private sessions designed to subvert this.

"You haven't done anything to upset Professor Snape, have you?" Dumbledore chided gently. "I haven't seen him this worked up since the occasion he was given double duty on a Hogsmeade visit."

"When was the last time that happened, sir?" Harry couldn't help asking.

"About ten years ago," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. "Minerva hasn't assigned him since. But enough of Professor Snape and his propensity for detentions," he declared, standing up and moving over to the cabinet, where Harry knew he kept the pensieve. "Tonight I have something far more interesting to show you."

He pulled out the pensieve, and motioned for Harry to come over. He retrieved a small phial filled with silvery-blue wispy memories, and with a snap of surprisingly nimble fingers, had popped it open.

"You are aware, of course, that through your and Hermione's combined efforts, you've whittled down Voldemort's horcruxes to two," Dumbledore said, as the memories slipped out of the bottle and landed into the basin. They began to swirl, and Dumbledore gestured for Harry to go ahead.

"Once more into the Pensieve, Harry."

Harry leaned forward, and the world was sucked away; shapes began to form. It took him several moments of squinting into the filthy gloom to recognize Gaunt's shack, but it was Hermione's voice that snapped his attention to the pair standing by the worn, dusty table.

"Don't!"

Dumbledore was holding Gaunt's ring up to the light, and at Hermione's words, he froze. He was gazing at Hermione like an old, blinking owl caught in unnaturally bright light. Hermione's face was pale, and though his vision was obscured by the gloom, he could see her trembling in the low wandlight.

"Marvolo Gaunt never understood what he had, for all that he wore this ring for years," Dumbledore said at last, looking both yearning and resigned. "The ring is set with a valuable artifact—a legendary stone that is said to wake the dead, so that one may speak them again."

Harry saw Hermione inhale sharply, and before he could quite register it had happened, she had snatched the ring out of Dumbledore's fingers. For a terribly moment, Harry though it was to put it on herself, but her intentions became clear when she merely held it out of reach.

"It's dangerous," she said firmly. She looked both surprised and frightened at her own daring, but her conviction remained firm. "You can't put it on."

"You're right," Dumbledore said, and his voice was very faint, as though he were far away. "Of course… I have been so very foolish…"

The scene melted away; this time, they were in a small room in a home Harry did not recognize. Two men were kneeling on the floor—one was fair, the other with fiery auburn hair that rivaled any Weasley's. A strange symbol had been carved into the floor. It looked like some kind of eye—a triangle, with a circle in the center, and a line that went down the middle. There was a book open between them, and the large title of the chapter jumped out at him—_The Tale of Three Brothers._

A young girl was lingering by the doorway. She had hair the color of corn silk, and blue eyes that looked both oddly intelligent and absent. She said nothing, but when another boy—younger than the two kneeling on the floor, by the looks of it—tugged on her shoulder, she turned to look at him.

"Come on," the boy said, eyeing the two on the floor with transparent bitterness. "It's time to feed the goats."

Without another word, she vanished from the doorway. The two boys looked over their shoulder, as though to check that she was gone, and then one of them pointed his wand at it, causing it to snap shut. Harry heard the lock click.

"The Stone, the Cloak, the Wand," the blond-haired boy said, pointing to different parts of the eye-like symbol they had carved into the floor. "They make up the Deathly Hallows. Can't find much else on them, but it seems no one really knows what happened to any of them."

"We'll find them," the red-haired boy asserted. His blue eyes were locked onto his friend, and they sparkled with hopeful, determined ambition. "We'll share them, too."

"Masters of Death," the other boy agreed. He pumped his hands into the air, eyes alight with determination. "Rulers of Britain—to a new order!"

The memory dissolved, and Harry pulled away, feeling his feet land on the office floor as he exited the pensieve.

"As you can see, even I am capable of making lapses in judgment," Dumbledore said heavily, "but the point of the first memory was not to show you the horcrux, but the ring."

"Is it true, sir?" Harry asked, thinking about the ring Hermione always wore. "Does it work? These—these Deathly Hallows?"

"Alas, I cannot say for certain," Dumbledore admitted, "but the surviving literature suggests it is so."

"So that means…" Harry swallowed. "I could talk to my parents again?"

"The stone embedded in the ring is very much like the Mirror of Erised," Dumbledore cautioned. "It is good for a viewing or two, but it is easy to waste one's life away in front of it. The stone's creator is said to have committed suicide when the pain of being unable to touch his deceased lover became too great to bear."

"Then why show me this?" Harry wondered.

"Because the Stone is an important member of a magical triad," Dumbledore responded patiently. "They are said to have been gifted to three brothers by Death himself, though it is much more likely that they were simply very clever inventors. But nonetheless, their creation marks the birth of the legend of the Deathly Hallows."

"And why is this important, sir?" Harry was interested, but at the moment, he could not see how this was remotely relevant to the task of defeating Voldemort.

"Because the individual who has mastered all three objects will be able to master death itself," Dumbledore said.

"So there's a stone that can bring back the dead…"

"A cloak that grants uncompromised invisibility to the wearer," Dumbledore continued, "and a wand that is reputed to be unbeatable—the Elder Wand."

Harry looked at him in astonishment.

"Last year, I taught you everything you needed to know about Tom Riddle's past and his horcruxes," Dumbledore explained. "This year, I will teach you what you need to know about the Deathly Hallows. To be continued in our next lesson, Harry."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, getting to his feet. "Good night."

As he walked toward the door, something occurred to him, and he turned to look at the Headmaster.

"Sir… who were those two we saw in the second memory?"

"Two young and foolish boys with grandiose plans," Dumbledore said with a sigh, "that inevitably went very wrong."

"And the girl…" Harry hesitated. "Where is she now?"

Dumbledore looked at Harry over his half-moon spectacles.

"She died, I'm afraid—and it will forever be their greatest regret that they were responsible for it."

Harry thought he saw the slightest glimmer of a tear in the Headmaster's eyes, but he couldn't be certain. And it was only once he had gone to bed that he realized Dumbledore had not really told him who the two boys were.

* * *

**Please review!**

**-Anubis**


	27. Chapter 30 & 31

**A/N: Posting this early, just because I can. And I'm doing another combined chapter.**

_Information on TFW can be found on my profile. You can also access a PDF of it through there._

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own this crazy world.**

**Please review!**

* * *

The next two weeks passed by in a blur. Harry had promised Hermione that he would not attempt to enter Voldemort's mind without her present, and Ron and Ginny were often with him whenever he went to see Professor Granger in the evenings. Harry would have liked to see her directly after class, but she had dedicated that time to tutoring other students, and it would seem awfully suspicious if she gave it up.

Harry himself often went to Hermione's extra study sessions, because—like many of the other students who attended—they weren't there for remedial help. Hermione gave them additional practice that was, in a perverse way, challengingly fun and prepared them for the following classes, giving them an edge on the other students. Harry would not normally have cared about this, but after receiving a nasty shock from a particularly irritable and untamed enchanted teakettle, he decided he would rather take the extra lessons. It was a simple case of self-preservation, which Harry was quite familiar with after a lifetime of walking the wild side of danger. And after class, he and Ron often had tea in her office to catch up.

Draco Malfoy was always there, hanging onto Professor Granger's every word. Harry rather suspected he would be showing her a lot less suspect if he found out that she was really The Chosen One's muggle-born best friend, and this thought was the only thing that made the extra hour in Malfoy's presence tolerable. Selenius was always there as well, though he often partnered up with Neville, who had truly developed into a formidable opponent.

He had only made one other successful foray into Voldemort's mind. The time he failed was because he had skittered back when he realized Voldemort was alone and lost in thought—he wanted to catch the Dark Lord when he was preoccupied with others, not when he was introspective enough to detect and trace another set of thoughts in his mind. When he explained his failure to his companions, he was relieved that Hermione wholeheartedly agreed with his decision. Ginny was always jittery with nerves at the mention of his attempts, but Harry was relieved that she was determined to stay by his side. He needed her more than ever.

He spent some of his evenings checking the Marauders Map when he had the chance to try and coax the imprints of its creators to the fore. It was difficult. They were more than happy to provide advice for mischief-making, but beyond that, Harry could detect nothing tangible about his father. Even Mr. Padfoot was barely representative of Sirius, and though he revealed quite a bit about the secret passageways that Sirius himself knew, it did not begin to touch the core of Sirius's personality. It was disheartening, but Harry's curiosity was also quirked by the fact that he was discovering quite a bit by asking the four personalities of the map for knowledge on the castle.

He had also begun checking the Map in the evenings since the day he had told Ron about the four Marauders' and their message about the curfew breakers, more out of curiosity than anything else. But he could never seem to catch them at the right time—the library was almost always empty, save for the occasional Prefect doing rounds. He once caught a glimpse of Selenius well after curfew, but he was well aware of the younger boy's tendency to sneak out for late-night reads, and had written it off. Selenius would walk across broken glass for a good book. Curfew was nothing.

His second lesson with Dumbledore involved another foray into the pensieve—this time, Harry found himself following the blond-haired man from earlier as he paid a visit to a foreign wandmaker ("Gregorovich," Dumbledore informed him) and snuck into the shop to steal the Elder Wand. The memory ended with the blond-haired man grinning victoriously before he leapt from the window in the back of the wandmaker's shop and disappeared into the night. It seemed that to Harry, Dumbledore was helping him follow the path that the Hallows had taken.

And then he gave Harry his first homework assignment.

"You are aware that Professor Granger is in possession of the Resurrection Stone," Dumbledore said, peering over his half-moon spectacles. "She has vowed not to give it to me even if I should ask, and for good reason. It will be your job to persuade her to give it to _you._"

"And then give it to you, sir?" Harry asked.

"Oh, no," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. "I still don't trust myself with it. It will be yours to keep, my boy—it's you who will need it."

The next day was the Halloween feast. Harry checked the Map before dinner, and seeing that Hermione was in her office—at her desk—he folded and stuffed it into his pocket, and made his way to the third floor.

He thought it would be an easy task. Hermione was his friend. She knew that what he was doing was vitally important. But when he knocked and entered, and took the seat on the other side of her desk, and tried to explain himself, things did not go as he planned.

"Why did Albus say you needed the ring?" Hermione asked, frowning at him over the fifth-year essays she was grading.

"He said I'd need it, it's part of the Deathly Hallows—"

"The _what?_"

Hermione sat up a bit straighter in her chair and gave Harry the _look,_ the look that said she had no clue what he was talking about, but that she was about to find out even if she had to interrogate it out of him. So Harry tried to explain what they were—everything he had thus far learned about the Deathly Hallows. The Elder Wand's bloody swath through history, the Invisibility Cloak, the Resurrection Stone that had been passed down through the Gaunts for at least several generations before ending up as a Horcrux in the dilapidated shack…

He was extremely disconcerted when Hermione's entire expression closed up as he finished his tale, and appeared to be utterly unimpressed. The woman he saw sitting across from him had the cold, calculating look of a war-worn officer who suspected that the blinds were being pulled over her head, and had no intention of letting it happen.

"I will consider it, after I indulge myself in a bit of thorough research."

"You don't believe me?" Harry asked incredulously.

"I've never even _heard _of the Deathly Hallows before now, and believe me, Harry, I've come across a lot in my lifetime," Hermione said, resting her chin on her folded hands. "I have a lot to consider about this, and I don't commit to anything I don't know about."

"But didn't Professor Dumbledore tell you that the Stone was the Resurrection Stone?" Harry argued. "He was honest with you from the beginning. It's not like he didn't tell you."

Hermione said nothing for a moment, though Harry suspected it was because she was considering how much to tell him, and not because she was actually contemplating the logic in his argument. He felt disbelief sink in, cold and slippery. Hermione had always been stubborn, but he had never seen her so unreasonably flat-out mulish.

He watched her sit there for a moment, tapping her chin with one finger, and then her eyes slowly slid back into focus.

"I might have come across a very vague mention of it before…" she said slowly, and Harry could see the gears turning in her brain. "But I'll have to double check…"

She set her quill down. The nib had been chewed off.

"The sign of the Deathly Hallows, which you described, I am familiar with," she said coldly. "It's precisely the same mark the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald carved into the wall of Nurmengard."

She tossed her quill aside and plucked a fresh one from the holder, and then flicked the feathered end toward the door.

"That should give you something to think about while I research the Deathly Hallows."

Harry had stared at her in a mixture of bewilderment, incense, and utter disbelief before slowly getting to his feet. He walked out of the office with a robotic gait, trying to make sense of Hermione's behavior.

She had never treated him like this before. Of all the adults Harry had come across, she had been the most honest, the one prepared to treat him like an equal. Yet it was clear to Harry that she was hiding something, and that only a slight knowledge of the subject was all she was willing to admit to him while she delayed giving him Gaunt's ring. He didn't doubt that she would be researching it thoroughly, but he was baffled and insulted by her secretive, suspicious demeanor.

As he made his way to the Halloween feast, a startling realization occurred to him. It almost felt as though Hermione and Dumbledore were trying to pull through two entirely different schemes, and when they came into conflict, he, Harry, was the one who got caught in the middle. Dumbledore didn't want him making use of his link with Voldemort. Hermione did. Dumbledore wanted him to take possession of the Resurrection Stone. Hermione did not. It was like watching two people on the same side of a chess board squabbling and attempting to out-scheme each other while simultaneously trying to take down their shared opponent with complex maneuvers. It was maddening.

Which meant that Harry was going to have to make a choice about which scheme to follow.

With a very real growl of frustration, he stomped down to dinner. He didn't much fancy how closely he resembled a chess piece.

~o~O~o~

The first Quidditch match of the year was hailed by a heavy storm that left the field soaking and muddy. The Gryffindor team marched out, their heads bent against the howling rain and wind despite the Impervious Charms cast on their goggles.

"I'm surprised Malfoy hasn't asked to reschedule the match," Ron said, as they came to a stop in the middle of the field. "Wouldn't have thought he'd want to get mud on his robes."

"I don't think I need to tell you to expect bad weather—" Harry began, as he addressed the team.

"Yes, yes, we're practically drowning in sunshine and rainbows," Ginny said sarcastically.

"—but the wind is blowing in the direction of the Slytherin goalposts, so try to take advantage of that," Harry continued patiently, shouting to be heard over the wind.

"Lucky us," Katie called.

Madam Hooch appeared at that moment, with the Slytherin captain—a burly seventh-year Harry vaguely recognized as Miles Bletchley.

"Oi, Potter. A word with you!"

"Who wants to be he's going to try and get us switch sides on the field?" Ginny asked brightly as Harry stomped off to speak to the Slytherin captain.

"Madam Hooch isn't stupid. She won't let them—"

They all fell silent as they saw Madam Hooch pull her broom upright, and Harry and Bletchley took it in hand, their fists resting one on top of the other. At Madam Hooch's nod, they began leap-frogging their hands, one over the other, until Harry's came up empty.

"So much for that," Selenius said hollowly.

"That can't be right. They can't just demand to switch sides…" Demelza began, tapping her beater's bat against her boot.

"Looks like we don't have any choice," Ron said bitterly.

A moment later, they mounted up, shooting venomous looks at both Hooch and the Slytherin team, and then the whistle blew. They shot off, and it was only with sheer luck that Ginny managed to swipe the Quaffle first. She sped off toward the goal, with the Slytherin chasers in hot pursuit.

The game was as dirty as the field, and in the thick rain foul plays and illegal moves were difficult to catch. The wind often veered them off course, due to vision impairments and the fact that some of the brooms were not strong enough to maneuver against it—a slight turn ended up becoming a sharp swerve. Twice, Demelza was nearly knocked off her broom by a deliberate collide, and Ritchie Coote got nicked in the shoulder by a beater bat that was not his. Ginny almost had the Quaffle knocked out of her hands by a deliberate swing of another Slytherin beater's bats, though Madam Hooch caught this one, and the crowd had to endure the Slytherin's insistence that he had genuinely mistaken it for a Bludger. Several Bludgers were aimed at Harry, but the Gryffindor team gave just as good as they got, and Coote managed to hit one on the Beater who'd tried to dislocate his shoulder from behind.

They were at a complete standstill until Slytherin scored the first goal of the game.

"Ten-one to Slytherin," Zacharias Smith called. He sounded rather subdued, though whether it was because he didn't want to be smashed into by his ex-girlfriend again or because of the bad weather, it was hard to say. "And Gryffindor takes the Quaffle…"

Harry was darting around the field, trying to catch sight of the Snitch. If he caught it early, Gryffindor would still win, even if Slytherin took a scoring lead—

"Gryffindor scores! They can do something right every once in a while, I suppose—and Slytherin takes the ball…"

He thought he saw something gold flash out of the corner of his eye, but when he wheeled around to look, he was met with a bludger to the side. Pain exploded, and he felt himself swing on his broom, holding on for dear life as the dizzying nausea threatened to send him flying off. There was a loud boo from the Gryffindor stands.

"Harry!" Ginny shouted.

"I'm fine," he gasped, as he struggled to swing himself upright. "Just… peachy."

He darted forward suddenly, when he caught the faintest flash of gold again, mere meters in front of him. It was flittering about, diving toward the ground, and Harry followed; a moment later, he caught sight of Malfoy on his tail, and the two were racing for the ground, struggling not to be thrown off by the wind—

"Twenty-ten, to Slytherin!"

Harry's fingers closed around the snitch, and he veered back up just in time to avoid crashing into the ground. Unfortunately, he had not realized how close he was to the stands, and the cheers were drowned out by a sudden groan as he and Malfoy both collided into the sides of the stadium, tearing through the Ravenclaw house cloth and smacking into the wooden support beams within the stands.

But the snitch was caught. Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and Ginny and Selenius were the first ones on the ground. Ginny pulled Harry free from the wreckage, where he was still holding the fluttering snitch in his hand, and Selenius yanked Malfoy up by the back of his robes.

"You okay, mate?" He asked as he heaved Malfoy free of the tangle of torn cloth.

Malfoy's face had turned pink with humiliation, and he hobbled to his feet. "Sod off, Black."

"Hospital wing, both of you," Madam Hooch said, landing beside them. She pointed her wand at the scar along Ravenclaw's banner, and it immediately repaired itself. "And congratulations, Mr. Potter."

~o~O~o~

"Shame about the points, but at least we're ahead," Ron said cheerfully as Madam Pomfrey had Harry checked out. "The weather will be better next time, you'll see."

And then he lowered his voice, with a glance over at the other occupant in the hospital wing before adding, "And maybe the ferret will think twice about ramming into you."

At the other end of the room, placed as far away from Harry as possible, Malfoy was sulking. Selenius was sitting at the foot of his bed, but whatever they were talking about, Harry hadn't a clue—they were out of earshot.

"Not sure it was deliberate," Harry said off-handedly. "Maybe Malfoy's just a bad flier."

Ron sniggered.

As soon as the matron excused him, Harry was up ready to leave, his Firebolt slung over his shoulder. They made their way back to Gryffindor house, ignoring the sneering looks and jibes from the Slytherins. Gryffindor wasn't celebrating this match; the weather had been so poor, hardly anyone had been able to follow much of what was happening, and it had ended under desperate circumstances. There wasn't much glory to be had in this first game of the season. Harry was relieved when they received a very warm welcome, however—someone had snuck into the kitchens and brought up treacle fudge and biscuits with fresh tea, and the Gryffindor team was more than happy to sit around the fire with comfort food. They were dry, but their bones still felt distinctly soaked.

About an hour later, Harry retired upstairs to find some parchment. There was a letter on his nightstand, with a rather ruffled-looking owl standing beside it, and he slit it open. The Ministry was holding a meeting over Easter break to discuss the war, and Scrimgeour wished for Harry to attend. Harry chewed on his quill for a moment, sat down at his bed, and wrote out a quick response. As soon as he sent the owl off, he pulled out a blank sheet of parchment, and began penning a letter to Sirius.

~o~O~o~

Hermione leaned against one of the shelves in the Restricted Section. The books within seemed to shrink back at this, knowing better than to snap at her for her insolence, and she flipped open one of the few texts she'd managed to find on the Deathly Hallows.

Ironically, it was a children's book. She had found it in the normal section of the library, and now at her wit's end, she set it down and decided to give _The Tale of Three Brothers _a proper read. She had combed through the library at Spinner's End, of course. Like the Philosopher's Stone, it was also mentioned in _Convulsions of Nature—_the Resurrection Stone was given particular attention to detail, and the other two objects were mentioned as more of a courtesy. The book was an infuriating, temperamental sort, and Hermione was greatly frustrated by the task of teasing information from its pages.

She knew why Dumbledore had not directly asked her for the ring. She had taken it for a reason, and at the time, he had agreed with her. It was her job to keep it until—or unless—it was needed. She was often tempted to try it herself, but she always slammed down on the thought and shoved it back into the Pandora's box it had come from. But now Dumbledore wanted it back, and Hermione had no idea why. Worse, he was involving Harry in the matter, knowing her young friend would eventually find a way to tug at her heartstrings and convince her to give it up.

Dumbledore could certainly _force_ her to give it up, but Hermione knew that this was not his style.

What she was most concerned about was why Dumbledore wanted it back. What was he going to use it for? He was well aware of her reluctance to give it up. And even if he planned to give it to Harry, a stone that could bring back the dead—or shades of them, at least—was not precisely the best thing to give to a young adult who still harbored a raw spot over the death of his parents.

As she finished reading _The Tales of Three Brothers,_ the answer she found did not comfort her, and she slammed the book shut. The nearby ones lying on the desk let out yowls of protests, like angry cats.

"Oh, shut up," Hermione snapped.

She had made her decision. Right now, she wasn't prepared to hand the ring over to Harry. She would continue with her current plan, which was neat and orderly and still eminently feasible—exploit the link between Harry and the Dark Lord, wait until the Philosopher's Stone matured, and then use it to free Harry from the piece of Voldemort's soul still clinging to him.

She was certain it would work. She wasn't sure even Dumbledore had ever come across the tale—at this point, she had to acknowledge that they had very different tastes in reading material—but there was a legend about a wizard who had been so fascinated by death that he had sought to experience what dying would be like—and live to tell the tale. It was outlined in one of Hermione's more obscure texts as an experiment that had gone shocking right and only served to prove how malleable the soul could be, though it was not considered a practical defense against the Killing Curse. The few alchemists who were aware of the experiment cautioned that soul transmutation was a risky business, and that the wizard—though successful—had paid the price of his eyes because what he had offered for the ritual had not been suitable enough to maintain it. The tale expounded upon an elaborate way to experience death without dying, but it was wholly unsuitable for actual life-or-death situations.

And that suited Hermione's scheme just fine.

~o~O~o~

"Come in, Harry."

"Where are we going, sir?" Harry asked, as he took off his invisibility cloak and stuffed it into his pocket. Dumbledore had told him to bring it. They were not in his office this time, but were instead standing at the great iron-wrought gates. He had passed Proudfoot on his way here, though Mipsy had fortunately not noticed him.

"We shall be visiting a little town where an old friend of mine currently resides," Dumbledore replied cryptically, as he fastened his traveling cloak. "He's been on the run for nearly two years now, and I've finally located him. I do believe he would like to meet you."

The gates were unlocked with a gentle tap of Dumbledore's wand, and they stepped through. As soon as Dumbledore had them properly secured, he held out his hand to Harry.

"We shall be Apparating to our location. I assume you've acquired your Apparition License?"

"Yes," Harry said, recalling last year. "But I don't know where we're going—"

"No matter. Take my hand, if you please." Harry grasped it, and a moment later, felt the squeezing pop of Apparation. He shut his eyes, and as soon as he could breathe again, opened them.

They were in a dimly-lit street. The lamps flickered slightly at their approach, but otherwise remained steady as they cast their faint light into the cobbled path. Small houses lined the area, and Dumbledore set off toward one of them at a brisk pace, Harry jogging after him.

They walked up the driveway of a house with a rather manicured garden, and Dumbledore knocked once. They waited in silence for several moments, and the curtains in a nearby window were twitched back before the door opened.

"How in the bloody blue blazes did you track me down?" the man muttered, pulling the door open. "And without setting off my alarms, no less."

Harry blinked as he took in the giant, walrus-like man before him.

"May we come in?" Dumbledore asked politely.

The man huffed. "If you must."

They stepped inside, and Dumbledore shut the door behind him.

"Harry, I would like to introduce you to my long-time friend and colleague, Horace Slughorn."

"How do you do, sir?" Harry said, holding out his hand. Slughorn took it and gave it a firm shake, his mustache twitching as he recognized the name.

"What could you possibly need me for, Albus?" the man asked grumpily, turning around to straighten a portrait-laden shelf, which had gone slightly ajar. "Last I recall, school starts in September, not late November. Unless you've already lost your Defense teacher?"

"You taught Defence?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Goodness, no, but he was forever asking me to come back," Slughorn said, shaking his head. "Wanted me to take up Potions again, so Severus could do Defense. I always said—and I'll say it again—no."

"Have no fear, Madam Snape is still teaching Defence," Dumbledore said with a smile.

"Then what've you come for?" Slughorn asked suspiciously.

Dumbledore swept off his pointed wizard hat, and sighed.

"Years ago, you were approached by Tom Riddle on the nature of Horcruxes—"

"I already told you everything I knew," Slughorn said quickly. "I even gave you the memory where I told him—"

"I understand, Horace, but he approached you again years later when he sought a teaching job at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said calmly. "He asked you about the Elder Wand. I should like to ask for that memory."

"No, no, no," Slughorn said, shaking his head emphatically. "No, Dumbledore!"

"My dear Horace—"

"Can't you let an old man retire in peace? Haven't you already asked me enough?"

"Is that your answer?" Dumbledore asked simply.

"It is," Slughorn responded peevishly.

"Then I shall leave it at that. Would you mind if I used your loo?"

"To the right, down the hall," Slughorn said grumpily. Dumbledore disappeared through the door, and Slughorn turned to Harry.

"Don't think I don't know why he brought you along," He said, striding over to a comfy, stuffed armchair in the living room. He sat down, and summoned a box of crystalized pineapple to his hand, snapping it open. "I've always had a soft spot for favorites, and I'm terribly sorry I never got to teach you, but I knew your parents—bright students, the both of them. And your godparents too, come to that—I must say I was relieved to find out Sirius Black was pardoned, I never could believe he betrayed your parents."

"It wasn't him," Harry said, sitting down on a less-stuffy armchair. "It was Pettigrew."

"Is he really still alive, as they say?" Slughorn asked curiously.

Harry nodded.

"He was never a smart boy, that Pettigrew," Slughorn said gruffly. "Overly-eager at times, but never in the same league as your father and his friends. Still—I must confess to being disappointed with how he turned out."

He looked Harry over with a critical eye.

"But your father—he was a good man, Harry. Talented with a wand and excellent at Quidditch. Has anyone ever told you that you look just like him?"

"Yes," Harry replied patiently, wondering how he was going to convince Slughorn to give him the memory. He knew that was why Dumbledore had left the room; to give Harry time to work on Slughorn.

"Except for your eyes—you have your mother's eyes."

"So I've been told," Harry said.

"I suppose you play Quidditch, too?" Slughorn asked, leaning back and pouring himself a glass of mead.

"Seeker for the Gryffindor Team," Harry replied. The conversation was getting nowhere, and so he switched track, gesturing at one of the photos on the nearby shelf. "Is that Gwenog Jones?"

"You recognized her, I suppose?" Slughorn said, sounding delighted. "Yes, indeed. Still sends me tickets to the games—and that there next to her is Dirk Cresswell, head of the Goblin Liason Office. He sends me crystalized pineapple every so often, as a thank-you for giving him a leg-up." He stood up and poked around one of the frames. "Ah, here we are—this would be your mother," he said happily, pointing to a picture of himself surrounded by several of his students. The photo looked old, though not nearly as old as some of the others. "And your father, along with Black… that would be Hermione Snape," he added, pointing to a girl holding onto Remus's arm. "Lupin was never a part of my particular collection of favorites, but this was taken at one of my Christmas parties, and she brought him along as a date—Lucius Malfoy was there too, if I recall…"

Interested, Harry stood up to take a better look. A plethora of familiar faces popped out at him at once. His mother was holding onto his father's hand, looking radiant. Sirius had his arm around Slughorn and a glass of firewhiskey in the other hand, with a girl Harry didn't recognize. Hermione, who could only have been a year or so older than Harry remembered at the time of her disappearance, was urging Remus to smile. Harry saw her chance a glance over her shoulder, and realized that Snape—about as young as Harry remembered from his foray into the pensieve— was watching her from the background.

There were other people there who Harry didn't recognize, but this was more than enough for him. In a way, seeing Hermione—getting a tiny snapshot of who she had been and what kind of life she had led after going back in time—warmed him. He was glad to see that she was well taken care of here; it was obvious to him that she was a part of the Marauders, and that they had taken her under their wing.

He silently found himself thinking, _Thank you, Dad._

"…and that's Marlene McKinnon there, very talented, it's a shame her whole family was murdered," Slughorn was saying. "I kept in touch with her after she graduated, I was sure she would go far…"

Harry swallowed. "Do you keep in touch with most of your students?"

"The talented ones, of course," Slughorn beamed. "Of course," he added in a hushed voice, "I haven't spoken to anyone in nearly two years—I've been completely out of touch…"

For a moment, he looked rather disturbed at his own admission, and then rallied at once.

"But that's neither here nor there," he muttered, more to himself than Harry.

"Why?"

"To hide from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, of course!" Slughorn said.

"Forgive me, but why…?"

"Because I'm a very talented potioneer, if I may say so myself," Slughorn harrumphed, "among other things. They already came to call at my last permanent place of residence, just after I went into hiding. They want something from me, and I'm not willing to give it."

Harry pressed his lips together, knowing he would have to play this right. He glanced back at the picture of Hermione cajoling Remus into smiling for the camera, and tried to imagine what kind of advice she would be whispering into his ear if she were here.

"So that must mean you're a very important man," he hedged.

"Oh, not at all," Slughorn said modestly. "I just give leg-ups and recommendations to those with the talent and ambition to do splendidly in their fields. They send me gifts, certainly," he said, peering into the remains of an empty box of crystalized pineapple, "occasionally ask me for my take on something or other—"

"If Voldemort wants something from you, that makes you important," Harry said impatiently.

"Good lord, boy!" Slughorn said, jumping upright. His eyes darted from left to right. "Don't go around saying the name!"

"Sorry," Harry said unrepentantly, "but the thing is—just like all of your ex-students who needed something from you to help them get that extra lift into their career, _I _need your help, sir. You told Vol—You-Know-Who something, and I need to know what it was so I can stop him."

"He can't be stopped," Slughorn said, wiping his brow. "He's a madman—a powerful one, to be sure, but the depths he's gone to make himself impossible to overthrow…"

"I need to know what those depths are," Harry coaxed.

"I can't," Slughorn said firmly. "I swore I'd never tell again—you have no idea what damage I did that day— how much of what he is may possibly be my fault—"

Harry hesitated for a moment, unsure of what direction to take on this, but then he made his choice and pounced. "He already knew how to make Horcruxes before you asked him," he said seriously. "In fact, I'm sure he already made one by the time he asked you. You didn't send him down that path, sir, he was just using you to confirm something. And even if you hadn't given him the answer you wanted, he probably would have gone ahead and done it anyway."

Slughorn gave him a look of pure terror. "He—Dumbledore showed you that memory, didn't he?" he whispered.

"No matter what you told him that day, it wouldn't have changed a single thing," Harry said firmly, ignoring the accusation in Slughorn's eyes. "But what you told him about the Elder Wand _might_ make all the difference."

He took a deep breath.

"I need that memory, sir. And if you give it to me, I swear—I will do everything in my power to undo whatever damage you did that day that I can."

Slughorn gazed at him for so long, Harry thought he might be seriously considering throwing him out. But then at last, the older man raised his wand to his temple, shoulders shaking as he did so—and Harry realized he was crying.

"You have no idea how much guilt I feel over what happened that day—both days," he whispered. "I should have learned my lesson the first time around, but when he came back, I had no idea—I just saw the brilliant pupil who desired nothing more than to learn more about the magical world…"

Silvery-blue memory leaked out of his temple, and he silently conjured a small phial. They dropped in, and he shakily handed them to Harry.

"I was so blinded back then," he said, and his voice quaked. "I hope I'm not making a similar mistake this time."

"You're not," Harry said quietly, feeling his heart thump with realization of his success. "Thank you."

Slughorn pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, seemingly overwhelmed, and after a moment's hesitation, turned and reached for one of the cabinets. He bent down and twisted the knob; it clicked open, and after a moment's rummage, he came up with a tiny phial of potion that resembled molten gold.

"I don't suppose… you've ever seen this potion, have you?" he asked, removing his hand. He hiccupped.

"No, sir," Harry said.

"It's called _Felix Felicis, _also known as Liquid Luck," He wiped his brow, looking rather lost, and then pushed it into Harry's hand, as though he were passing the burden of his sins onto Harry in that tiny phial. "I—I want you to have it. It's not much, and you mustn't take too much of it all at once, but—I hope it helps you on your quest."

~o~O~o~

The memories were poured into the basin without fanfare. Harry watched them swirl around for a moment, and then at Dumbledore's behest, he leaned in. The memories formed vague shapes that solidified into clarity; they were in Snape's office, only it was not Snape's office yet. It was luxuriously decked in odd gifts of crystalized pineapple and photographs of old students, and decorated in royal purple trimmings. Slughorn was sitting at his desk, not quite as bald as he was now, and Harry came with a start when he recognized the taller, thinner man standing in front of Slughorn's desk—Tom Riddle.

"It's good to see you again, sir," Riddle said, keeping his eyes averted, his tone utterly polite as he took in Slughorn's office. "I thought I'd drop by after my interview."

"Did you get the job?"

"No sir, though Professor Dippet did advise that I might reapply in a few years."

"That's a shame. You would have done very well here," Slughorn said, tugging his great walrus-like mustache thoughtfully. "Where will you go now?"

"I'm not sure yet, but I know I want to research magical history and artefacts," Riddle said, filling his voice with warm, charming enthusiasm. "I remember coming across a few things in the library when I was a student, and I found my interest… piqued. Have you ever heard of the Elder Wand?"

"The Deathstick, the Unbeatable Wand?" Slughorn asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Yes, sir," Riddle said, looking eager.

"Well, I can't say I know very much about it, Tom, not much at all…"

"But surely you've heard of it?" Riddle pressed.

Slughorn gazed at Riddle thoughtfully. "It's been lost in history, it's got a very spotty record and pops up from time to time, but it's said to have been created by death himself. Given as a gift, one of three gifts to three brothers, and that unlike ordinary wands, it could only be won by killing the former over. Not that I'm an expert on wands," he added, sitting up a bit straighter. "Certainly, it's a wand that many would kill for, so perhaps that's where that part of the legend comes from—"

"So it really is an unbeatable wand?" Riddle asked, his eyes alight with interest.

"Well, legend says it is, so I can only assume…"

The memory faded, and Harry found himself once again in Dumbledore's office.

"First, I must applaud you for coaxing this memory out of Horace, and I must confess I rather thought you might not succeed," Dumbledore said, slowly returning to his chair. "Secondly, as I hope you've realized, what this memory confirms is that Voldemort's knowledge of the Deathly Hallows is incomplete."

"How do you figure, sir?" Harry asked, taking a seat.

"He was singularly interested in the wand," Dumbledore said, "and not in the lore that the Elder Wand is an important part of."

"So he just wants a powerful wand, and he doesn't care about the other two objects?" Harry confirmed.

"That's right," Dumbledore said.

Harry sat back in his chair, thinking hard.

"Does the wand really have to be won by killing the previous owner?" he asked quietly.

"No, it does not," Dumbledore said, giving Harry an approving nod for this insightful question.

"And taking someone else's wand doesn't make it yours," Harry said slowly. "I mean, I could just grab your wand right now, and it probably wouldn't work for me…"

"It wouldn't work nearly as well for you as your current wand does," Dumbledore agreed, setting his own wand down on the desk. "You're welcome to give it a try, if you're so inclined."

Harry hesitated, shocked at what Dumbledore was offering him, but then he picked up the wand. He was instantly flooded with understanding. It felt wrong in his hands, and when he pointed it at the poker by the fireplace and uttered, "_Accio!",_ the poker did sail over to him; but the spell felt forced, the poker reluctant. It dropped to the floor with a sad clatter. The wand wasn't cooperating with him. He felt as though he had to mentally beat the wand into submission to get it to do his bidding. He carefully set it back down on the desk.

"I understand, sir," he said quietly. He paused. "I suppose that follows the other objects of the Deathly Hallows, as well? They have to be won or inherited?" Something else occurred to him. "And the man with blond hair we saw stealing from Gregorovich—why did the wand work for him?"

"As it turned out, the wand did not work for him as it should have, though it behaved quite well for the man who defeated him," Dumbledore replied. "It performed powerful magic, certainly, but never to its full potential. As for your first question, yes indeed—it is also why it is important that you gain mastery of the Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone in addition to your Invisibility Cloak—"

"My Invisibility Cloak? You mean—_my_ Invisibility Cloak is—?"

"Yes, indeed! Haven't you wondered how it's lasted all these years?" Dumbledore said, beaming. "Most of them lose their magic with wear and tear—but yours is as good as the first day it was made."

Harry gaped at him, unable to speak.

"Your Invisibility Cloak has been passed down for generations, from father to son, all the way back to the youngest Peverell brother," Dumbledore said. "The ring was passed down the Gaunt line in similar fashion, and then abandoned, which is why Professor Granger currently has its allegiance. Should you win it from her, or if she should freely give it to you, only then will it become yours."

"And the wand… the Elder Wand…"

"Shall be left up for discussion another night," Dumbledore said, smiling, "as the hour has grown exceptionally late, and you have class tomorrow. I fear I've kept you for too long."

"Yes, sir." Harry got to his feet, his mind still whirling. "Good night."

He patted the phial of _Felix Felicis_ in his pocket as he left, thinking that if Hermione didn't unbend soon, he might have a use for it after all.

* * *

**Please review!**

**-Anubis Ankh**


	28. Chapter 32

**A/N: I am building six bookcases over the course of my short spring break while simultaneously trying to adjust to contact lenses. Pity me.**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

**Please review!**

* * *

Harry sat on his bed, holding up his father's invisibility cloak for inspection. Aside from the fact that it was beautiful and valuable beyond what money could ever offer him, it did not look particularly special. Yet, when Harry asked Ron, his red-headed friend confirmed what Dumbledore had said: Invisibility cloaks tended to wear out as time went on. And yet his father's cloak had survived generations. It was special. It was unique.

He glanced back at the Marauder's Map, which lay open at the foot of the bed, all moving black lines and spidery ink. He had asked the Map to tell him what it knew about his father's invisibility cloak, and though the Map had responded, it was still singularly unhelpful. It told him about the time they snuck into the Whomping Willow under the Invisibility Cloak ("The tree can sense you under the cloak, so beware," Prongs had offered) it had nothing meaningful to add to any questions about the Invisibility Cloak's history as a Hallow. Truthfully, Harry was unsurprised, as he had reasonably suspected his father had been as blind to the Cloak's true value as Harry himself right up until that moment in Dumbledore's office.

His eyes traveled down the corridors outlined in the map, tracing them on their way to the Defence classroom, finally landing on it and its occupant. And then his eyes went down to the dungeons, to the tiny room that had an entrance but no details. The two footprints were simply behind the door, which meant the Map knew they were there, but did not know what they were up to beyond that point. It was past curfew now, which meant going down to try and speak to her would be the height of foolishness. Particularly with her husband present. And truth to be told, Harry rather suspected that hounding her about the ring was not going to make her give it up. He would have to wait. For what opportune moment, he did not know, but he vowed to make one at Christmas. They would be at the Burrow. She would be relaxed. He might even chance using _Felix Felicis._

He jolted upright as he realized that Hermione had also assigned him some reading on Grindelwald after their last discussion. He had forgotten it entirely, and only just now remembered. Stuffing the map into his pocket after a quick check on Filch's whereabouts, he pulled on the Invisibility Cloak and left the room. He quietly tip-toed through the common room and pushed open the portrait, who was snoring softly in her frame, and began making his way to the library.

When he quietly slipped inside, he immediately strode toward the history section, only to realize he was not alone. Someone was kneeling on the floor with an open book, curled up against the wall in an effort not to be seen. Whoever it was, they were attempting to read by the moonlight that filtered through the window to avoid detection by casting. And he was not alone, Harry realized, when Draco Malfoy's familiar, pale face appeared behind him with another book under his arm.

"Find anything?" he whispered.

Harry froze, hardly daring to breathe, not wanting to be caught by making the slightest sound. Malfoy was a Prefect. Harry had seen him wandering the Library after hours, but he had assumed he was snooping about on his rounds. Their intersections past curfew was clearly not a coincidence.

"No, nothing," Selenius whispered.

Draco said nothing, kneeling down on the floor beside him.

"There's nothing else for it," Selenius said quietly. "We'll have to try the Restricted Section."

"The Dark Lord wants the book taken out of the library," Draco muttered. "We can't just take notes from them, either." He grimaced visibly. "This is going to be a pain, when we do find it."

"Aren't there supposed to be charms that stop books from being taken without being properly checked out?" Selenius muttered. "I thought I read that in _Hogwarts, A History._"

"I'll find a way to strip them when we find them." Draco patted Selenius's shoulder. "Come on. Let's take a look at the Restricted Section."

Harry felt his jaw drop open. He had been so busy that Malfoy hadn't even been on his radar, but now he wondered just what Voldemort had told him to do. It made sense, too. He found himself wondering if Malfoy had taken the Dark Mark. He was also more than a bit peeved that Selenius was helping him, and wondered how furious Hermione would be if—or rather, when—she found out. Curiosity about Grindelwald forgotten, Harry slowly followed the two boys through the library.

"Don't touch anything," he heard Draco whisper. "If you see something, tell me first."

"I'm not stupid," Selenius shot back.

"No, but you're an arrogant little prat," Draco snapped in an undertone, "who doesn't do as he's told."

_Pot, kettle,_ Harry thought.

"I stroked its spine! It stopped snarling! I wasn't expecting it to _bite_ me!" Selenius hissed. "And that was over a month ago!"

"We weren't going to find anything in _The Monster Book of Monsters_ anyway," Draco told him dismissively. "The Dark Lord could pick that up in any old shop. He's looking for something else." Harry saw him rub his face, looking agitated. "I doubt it's even in the library to begin with. Dumbledore probably removed it by now, along with those other books he told us about."

"It must be a terrible book," Selenius whispered. There was a pause. "I would have thought your parents would have had it somewhere."

"No. They never found a copy. Besides," Draco added, almost self-importantly, "each copy is unique. The Dark Lord wants the one Hogwarts has— the dragon-bound edition."

Harry was starting to get very annoyed, as he still had no idea what book they were talking about, though he had a very clear idea of what they were referring to when they spoke of the other books. Dumbledore himself had told him he had removed the books on Horcruxes from the library upon becoming Headmaster. He had a rather clear picture of what the two of them were doing here, however. Clearly, Voldemort had sent Malfoy to steal a particular book from the Hogwarts library, and Selenius was tagging along.

"We should have checked the Restricted Section ages ago," Selenius mumbled. "A book like _Convulsions of Nature_ would never just be lying around for a student to find anyway."

Harry had never even heard of the title before.

He watched the two of them slink around the shelves. At one point, they both glanced over their shoulders, as though to check that they were well and truly alone, and then lit their wands, scanning the titles lined up from top to bottom. It was boring work, though more than once, Draco had to yank Selenius back by the neck of his robes to stop him from picking one up.

"I thought I told you not to touch!"

"I can't help it! Can't you strip it or something so I can have a look?"

"Curiosity—"

"Curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction brought it back!" Selenius chanted in an undertone. "Now do it!"

"Who taught you that, your mother?" the blond-haired boy sniped back, but he pulled the book out, tapping the cover with his wand. It let out a rattling breath, and then fell open. Selenius eagerly grabbed for it.

"Yes, actually." Selenius knelt down on the floor, flipping through the book.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. "If I leave you here with this, promise me you won't touch anything else."

"On my honor as a Gryffindor," Selenius said, looking up and trying to look as innocent as possible.

"Liar." But Draco turned on his heel and disappeared down another bookshelf. Harry tip-toed past Selenius, stopping long enough to peer over his shoulder to see what he was reading. He was met with a list of spells, ordered alphabetically, though it was difficult to see their names through the mesh of his cloak. Deciding that Selenius was rather absorbed enough in the book to not be a danger to himself, he quietly followed Draco into the dark depths of the restricted section.

"Stupid, stupid kid," Harry heard Draco quietly muttering to himself. "Stupid, stupid Gryffindor…"

And then he was silent. Harry felt rather foolish, standing there as a silent spectator as Draco meticulously went through the rows, shelf by shelf. He checked his watch some time later, and realized that it was nearly one o'clock in the morning—they had been here for hours, accomplishing nothing. A quarter of an hour later, footsteps caught their attention, and Draco froze in alarm.

For a moment, Harry thought it was just Selenius—and the boy did appear a moment later, the book clasped firmly to his chest. But his eyes had a look of panic, and he was making a hand signal to Draco that spurred the older boy to action immediately. There was another set of footsteps now, louder this time, and Draco and Selenius disappeared under the older boy's Disillusionment Charm just in time for Filch to round the corner.

All three of them froze, holding themselves perfectly still as Filch stalked through the aisle.

"I could have sworn I saw a light…" the old caretaker muttered, peering into the darkness suspiciously. He held a lantern out in front of him and shook it slightly, causing light to dance between the shelves. "Students out of bed—well, we'll find them, won't we, my pretty?" he asked, and Harry saw Mrs. Norris winding around his legs.

Harry was fairly certain the mangy cat could see through Disillusionment Charms, if given enough time—he was also certain she had once almost caught him under the Invisibility Cloak in fourth year. If Malfoy and Selenius moved, they would be caught. If they didn't, Mrs. Norris would find them. He would have done a little jig at Malfoy being caught in such a damnable position, but he couldn't leave Selenius to the tender mercies of Argus Filch.

He made a quick decision. Snapping his wand upward underneath the cloak, he silently commanded, _Wingardium Leviosa!_

A book shuddered from the opposite aisle, and then slowly slid out of its place. Filch turned at the sound, and let out a shriek.

"I've got you now, you little miscreant!" He hobbled forward with surprising speed, and Mrs. Norris leapt after him, tail fluffed high. Harry saw Malfoy and Selenius dart away, and turned around in time to see Filch grasping at the thin air right around where the book was hovering, looking profoundly shocked to find nothing. He released the charm, and quietly side-stepped away, tip-toeing in the other direction as the book fell to the floor.

And then he ran like hell, with Filch's enraged cry echoing at his back.

"Leave the book—leave it!" he heard Malfoy hiss at Selenius as he neared the entrance.

"I can't! They only suspect someone was here, but it we leave it lying around, they'll know for sure!"

"Why you little—give it here!" Harry skidded to a halt near the door, watching as Malfoy yanked the book from Selenius. His form shimmered for a moment as he cast a spell, and then he shoved the book back at Selenius. "Take it. Now let's get out."

They disappeared into the corridor, peeling off in two entirely different direction. Harry sped off in the direction of Gryffindor Tower, managing to slip inside just mere inches behind Selenius as the Portrait grumpily swung open.

"I swear, all your nighttime wanders…" the Fat Lady mumbled sleepily.

"I'm sorry," he heard Selenius whisper. There was a whispered, "_Finite Incantatem!"_ and he melted back into view. "It's really important."

"That's what they all say," the Fat Lady replied, and then was silent.

Harry watched Selenius take in deep gulps of air, and then he staggered over to the fireplace and collapsed in one of the chairs, book still wrapped firmly against his chest.

Harry watched him regain his breath, and made a decision, yanking off his Invisibility Cloak.

"What were you doing with Malfoy tonight?"

Selenius wheeled around in the armchair so fast Harry thought he might give himself whiplash, and let out a strangled shriek of surprise.

"I—you!" He staggered to his feet, and checking the stairs rapidly to make sure nobody was coming down, pulled out his wand. "How?"

"Don't," Harry began, thinking Selenius was about to hex him.

"_Muffliato._" Harry frowned at the unfamiliar spell, and Selenius let his arm drop by his side. He was breathing hard, and for a moment, Harry had never thought he looked more like his father, as he had seen him when cornered by the four Marauders. Panting. Afraid.

And sharp as a whip.

"You followed me!" the younger boy accused.

"I had some research of my own to do in the library," Harry said, stuffing his invisibility cloak into his pocket. "Imagine how surprised I was to find you there."

Selenius's eyes glittered. "You were the one who distracted Filch, weren't you?"

"You can thank me for that by telling me what you two were doing there," Harry said in an undertone.

"We were looking for a book," Selenius snapped. "Obviously."

"In the Restricted Section?" Harry asked, glancing over at the stairs, hoping they wouldn't be overheard.

"It's not like you've never been there, either!"

Of course. Hermione would have told her son about their escapades. Harry could have smacked himself.

Very quietly, he asked, "Why does Voldemort want Draco Malfoy to steal a book for him, Selenius?"

To his credit, the younger boy did not flinch.

"I don't know, and it's none of your business." He turned away, still clutching the book he'd stolen, and stalked toward the stairs. "I'm going to bed."

He flicked his wand, cancelling the spell he'd cast earlier, but Harry grabbed his arm.

"What spell did you just cast?"

"A Muffling spell." Selenius yanked his arm away. "My father taught it to me. Now bugger off."

Harry watched him disappear up the stairs. He could have followed, but he knew it wouldn't do much good. Selenius was keeping Malfoy's secrets, for whatever reason, and he wasn't about to answer to Harry. Harry might try kicking him off the Quidditch Team to twist his arm a bit, or threaten to tell his mother, but in the grand scheme of things, he didn't think it would do much good. Selenius was stubborn as a mule, and would lie no matter what Harry did.

Still, he _was_ going to tell Hermione that Draco Malfoy was up to something. Or Dumbledore. He was not quite sure yet which one he wanted to confide in.

He turned away, flopping down on the armchair the younger boy had abandoned. On a whim, his lifted up his wand and twitched it upwards.

"_Muffliato."_

And then he picked up an empty ink bottle someone had left lying around and chucked it at the mantle. It shattered with a loud, alarming sound. He glanced up at the stairs, checking to see if anyone had heard. When no one appeared to see what the ruckus was about, Harry leaned back in the chair, looking rather satisfied with himself.

~o~O~o~

His next session with Hermione was the following evening, and Harry finally found some insight on the orders Voldemort had given Malfoy.

"_My Lord, my son reports he's scoured the library top to bottom," he heard Lucius Malfoy whisper weakly. The blond-haired man looked ill, frail even, as he faced his master. "He's finally begun his search through the Restricted Section."_

"_And if your son does not find it there?" Voldemort asked softly._

"_He will—he will search Dumbledore's office, my lord."_

"_He will search every inch of the castle."_

"_He will search everywhere," Malfoy agreed weakly._

Harry withdrew. Ginny squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

"What did you see?" Ron asked immediately.

"Voldemort," Harry said, sitting up straighter and rubbing his temple, "is looking for something in the castle." Seeing their questioning faces, he clarified, "A book. Malfoy's looking in the Restricted Section."

Hermione's eyes glinted dangerously at this. "Which book?"

"He didn't say," Harry answered truthfully. It was a white lie, but if Hermione was going to keep things from him, he wasn't going to be entirely forthcoming with her. If she was going to do research before divulging, he was going to do the same.

"I don't want you drawing attention by confronting Malfoy about this, Harry."

"Of course not." Hermione raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, and he added heatedly, "I won't."

Potions that day was a painful experience. Malfoy was jumpy, twitchy as a ferret, and he looked pale and drawn. He glanced over at Harry several times, and Harry knew—he just knew—that Selenius must have told him about being followed.

"What are you looking at, Potter?" he sneered when Harry had caught him glancing over at him.

"Nothing," Harry said with a shrug.

"Eyes on your own work, Potter," Snape said without looking up from his book.

Malfoy gave him a cruel, smug sneer at this, but Harry could still see past his façade. Deep down, Draco Malfoy was terrified out of his wits.

Harry didn't care. He already had a plan. As soon as class was over, he cornered Selenius on the way to lunch.

"What do you want?" Selenius snapped.

"To apologize," Harry said evenly. "For following you Wednesday night. It wasn't any of my business."

Selenius gave him a suspicious look.

"I haven't told your mother, and I don't plan to." Harry clasped a hand on the boy's shoulder, enjoying the startled look on his face. "Just thought you'd want to know."

He left Selenius Snape gobsmacked on the stairs, and hummed a tune to himself as he made his way to the Great Hall.

"You're looking pleased with yourself," Ginny remarked when he sat down for lunch.

"I am. Pass the marmalade, would you?"

Harry did not follow Selenius or Malfoy on any of the other nights that he knew they must be searching in the Restricted Section, knowing that they would be on guard. But he did watch them on the Marauder's Map, mentally marking their systematic progress. Sometimes, Crookshanks accompanied them; twice, Harry saw him cross paths with Mrs. Norris, only to send the other cat scurrying off in the other direction. If they kept up at this pace, they would probably be done just after Christmas, assuming they stayed over break to continue their search.

The weeks wore on, but the days cycled through a familiar routine, and winter arrived. The halls were decked in icicles and garlands as December was finally upon them, and Hagrid single-handedly dragged in the twelve enormous trees as he did every year. The knights sang broken, garbled versions of Christmas Carols that were occasionally given rude improvisations by Peeves, who was thrice extracted by the aggravated caretaker. Somehow, Mrs. Norris ended up Petrified, painted gold, and levitated atop one of the Christmas trees, much to Filch's horror, but the culprit was never caught. The mangy fleabag was quite alright in the end, though the gold took weeks to wash out.

Harry thought that Crookshanks had never looked so smug, strutting past the tree while the students who had discovered the painted cat shuffled aside to let the teachers through. He also had a vague idea of who might have been responsible—and also of just who might have inspired the culprit—but of course said nothing.

The week before term ended, Harry finally found time to check out several books on Grindelwald.

The last day of class, Harry had his final lesson with Dumbledore before break began. He requested an update on Harry's progress, not looking too disappointed at his failure to acquire the ring before diving into the next set of memories he had procured for them.

"Sir, I read up on Grindelwald a bit," Harry said, as Dumbledore poured the memories. "He knew about the Deathly Hallows, didn't he?"

"To an extent," Dumbledore agreed, swirling the memories around in the basin.

"You defeated him, sir?"

"Eventually," Dumbledore admitted, "though I fear I left it far too late."

Harry frowned. There had been quite a few conflicting accounts in the books. It was clear Dumbledore had won, but there was something about the way they had dueled that bothered him. Things had been said. Words were exchanged. But from an objective historical view, as given in the books Harry had found, there was very little to guide him on this haunch that something was not quite right.

This time, the memory was of Hermione. The previous session had also had a memory of Hermione. Dumbledore was trying to give him information on his friend to help him know how to appeal to her. Harry appreciated it, but deep down, he couldn't see how any of this would help him change Hermione's mind.

They were in Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore was sitting at a table; Hermione had just entered the room, and had taken the seat across from him. She had one leg crossed over the other, and looked perfectly at ease.

"It has come to my attention that you have been enabling Sirius to leave Grimmauld Place," Dumbledore said shortly.

Hermione froze. She stood stock still, like a deer caught in the headlights. Her façade of self-assurance evaporated for all of one moment, before she managed to pull herself together.

Dumbledore added, as though she needed clarification, "I happened to be paying Tine Cottage a visit when I chanced to see the two of them outside."

"Was Sirius sitting on the side of the mailbox closest to the cottage?" Hermione asked carefully. "Because if he was, that meant he was under the protection of the Fidelius Charm. He wouldn't have been in any danger."

"I appreciate that you took measures to increase security on Tine Cottage, and laid down effective ground rules, but the fact that you allowed Sirius to leave Grimmauld Place against my explicit orders to the contrary—"

"You can't keep a man locked up in house arrest forever," Hermione said, and her voice trembled ever so slightly. Dumbledore was not shouting, but his calm, infuriated demeanor was terrifying to behold. It was obvious to anyone who was looking that he was exceptionally angry—and that even Hermione was frightened of him. "Sirius isn't made for sitting inside twiddling his thumbs. You've seen what happens—he gets moody, depressed—it makes him ill, sir. I gave—I gave him an opportunity to get fresh air..."

Dumbledore eyed her calmly. "Did you ever let him venture beyond the reach of the boundaries of the Fidelius Charm?"

Harry saw her back stiffen, as though she were putting her courage in the sticking place, and then looked him straight in the eye. "I would shave his fur, charm it white, and transfigure other parts of his body before he crossed, sir. And he was always in his Animagus form. I never let him out of my sight, and he was always unrecognizable." She let out a hollow laugh. "I doubt even his own mother would have recognized him."

"Nevertheless, Hermione, you let him leave the protection of Grimmauld Place, and even the secondary protection placed on Tine Cottage," Dumbledore said quietly. There was disappointment in his voice. "You've broken my trust in you, by going behind my back and endangering the Order."

Hermione's expression morphed into a mask of calm. It was like gazing upon the surface of an icy lake, indecipherable and incomprehensible. She was going toe to toe with the Headmaster. "Sir, I think you have a rather unreasonable perspective on the matter."

"Oh?" Dumbledore said, his tone surprisingly mild. "Do tell."

"Well," Hermione said coolly, dropping all pretense of respect by appealing to his title, "you have a habit of treating people like chess pieces. I don't mean that as an insult, but I do mean to say that you sometimes seem to forget that there are other things that need to be looked at," Hermione said bravely. "As I said, Sirius needed fresh air. He was going stir-crazy. And I always kept him behind the Fidelius Charm unless I specifically altered his appearance. And even when I wasn't there, I made certain that Sirius understood that he was not go beyond the boundaries I had set for him."

"And what if Sirius had left those boundaries?" Dumbledore asked her quietly. "You know he has a tendency to be hot-headed and reckless."

"I placed my trust in him to not step beyond those boundaries," Hermione said firmly.

"And I placed my trust in you not to do so, either."

"Sirius has not betrayed my trust," Hermione said evenly. "I would never do anything to endanger the Order, but I think you overlooked some crucial aspects of the plan when you consigned Sirius to remain at Headquarters. I actually think that in trying to keep Headquarters as secure as possible, you've endangered it by restricting its principal occupant." She raised an eyebrow, and then added, "Sir."

Dumbledore steepled his fingertips, his expression thoughtful. He was still angry, but he seemed to be giving her words some careful consideration. Hermione sat silently, her gaze calm and unwavering. She was like stone. And she would not be moved.

Finally, Dumbledore spoke.

"I do not wish for Sirius to leave Grimmauld Place until term has been concluded," he said, quiet but firm. "That includes your son. This is not intended as punishment for him, but I think it is safe to say that he should not be out alone, and without Sirius or yourself to supervise him, he has no alternatives."

Hermione slowly shook her head.

"No."

"No?" Dumbledore repeated politely.

"I trust Sirius to supervise him, and I think you ought to trust Sirius to not go beyond the boundaries of the Fidelius." Hermione leaned back in her chair. "Show him a little faith, and he will reward you handsomely."

Dumbledore gazed at her for a long moment, and Harry had the sense that he was reassessing her. Harry was, too. The idea of arguing—_arguing_—with the Headmaster was the height of foolishness. With Hermione, she had a bit more to back herself up with, but it was still the equivalent of a wolf attempting to intimidate a lion with raised hackles and bristled fur. There was no doubt that the wolf was fierce, but the lion was simply overwhelmingly more powerful. And had a much more impressive mane and mantle.

But the old lion conceded at last. "Very well. I place Sirius in your care, as your responsibility."

Hermione's entire expression immediately brightened. "Thank you, Headmaster."

The memory vanished, and Harry gazed at Dumbledore in disbelief.

"When was this?" he asked.

"Shortly after her counterpart's disappearance," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "I believe it was right after she introduced the idea of telling you about the Prophecy to the rest of the Order."

"And you just… let her?"

"She made a very good case."

Privately, Harry did not think it was the legitimacy of Hemione's case that had made him change his mind. All this memory had confirmed for him was that Hermione was willing to do things under the Headmaster's nose, and was utterly unrepentant when caught.

"And she was right," Dumbledore admitted. "Her gambit was risky, but I do believe it made the difference in the end."

Harry left that evening feeling unsettled and out of sorts. He had been leaning toward devoting himself to Hermione's plan, and then had wavered toward Dumbledore's with the introduction of the Hallows. Now he once again felt uprooted, without a sense of direction or self.

_Which path am I supposed to take?_

It was then he decided that he finally needed to have a talk with Sirius face to face.

* * *

**Please review!**

**-Anubis Ankh**


	29. Chapter 33

**A/N: I won't be able to post next week (and possibly the week after) so I'm compensating with another chapter. School is incredibly busy this time of year, and I have a lot of things I need to wrap up. Additionally, this is a chapter I think many of you have been waiting for...**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

**Please review!**

* * *

The ice crunched beneath their boots as they walked down the well-worn lane. Harry had asked Sirius for a private chat, and—not being obliged to stay at the Burrow this time, as he was of age and quite able to take care of himself—had been invited along to visit Godric's Hollow. They walked in silence, gazing off into the distance through the snowfall. Lights were on in the street, with decorations hung merrily around every post. Music could be heard from the pub, and in the distance, choir music filtered through the air.

"I came here last year," Sirius finally said, as they rounded the bend. "To visit James and Lily's graves. I thought…" he broke off. "I thought it would be the first thing I did when I broke out of Azkaban, but that obviously didn't happen. And then I thought it would be the first thing I did when I was finally pardoned…"

They came to a stop by the war memorial, in the heart of the village square, a shiny black obelisk with names carved within it. As they approached, Sirius drew Harry to a halt, and it suddenly transformed before their eyes. Harry took a step closer, slowly taking in the man with untidy hair and glasses, the woman beside him, and the smiling baby boy between them. Harry recognized himself in the boy, though he had no scar. They were covered in a light pattering of snow.

"That didn't happen, either. So I decided to stop by on Christmas."

They stood there for a moment. Harry's breath caught. He didn't know what to feel. He had never thought about visiting his parents' graves before. In a vague way, though he had known they were dead all these long years, it had never really occurred to him that they actually had graves, that they were actually laid to rest somewhere that he could visit. All his life, they had simply been… gone. Out of his reach. In some great beyond that he would never find.

Sirius placed a hand on his shoulder.

"That's you," Sirius said unnecessarily, but Harry didn't begrudge him the need to explain. He was glad his godfather was with him for this. "They got the likeness right. For your parents."

Harry swallowed. They stood there for several moments in silence, and then Harry nodded, indicating they should continue. They walked down the lane, approaching the church, and then they came around the bend to a stop just behind it. Music continued to drift from the building in rising chorus and Harry felt his throat catch, thinking of all the holidays he never got to spend with his family. Wondering if they would have been in the village square celebrating Christmas with him now, if they had lived.

They walked into the graveyard square, quietly slipping through the kissing gate, walking as though they did not wish to disturb the peaceful atmosphere. Harry stopped ever so often to look at the various names on other gravestones, and Sirius quietly waited for him at every turn, unhurrying and understanding.

Harry came to a halt when he found a single gravemarker that bore the family name of Dumbledore. Kendra Dumbledore and listed beneath her date of birth and death, her daughter Ariana. They must be relations of Dumbledore's, Harry thought muzzily, though he had never really thought of Dumbledore as ever really having a _family._ In a way, he had always seen Dumbledore as just being there. He had simply popped up one day, a wise old man, Headmaster of Hogwarts, respected Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. But here it was, with recent enough dates that Harry thought they might perhaps be close cousins. Perhaps an aunt.

There was an inscription.

_Where your treasure is, your heart will be also._

How true that was, Harry thought, as he moved away. He realized then that Sirius was not there. He glanced around quickly for a moment, and then he saw him a few feet away, just two rows ahead. And he knew by the slope in Sirius's shoulders, the way he stood with his head bent, that it was his parents graves. He hurried over, breathless with something like thrill, anticipation, and something else he couldn't quite put words to.

Their names were side by side, connected by a single inscription.

_The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death._

Harry read it carefully, as though he would only have one chance to read it.

"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death…" he murmured. He didn't understand what it meant. It sounded like a Death Eater ideal, particularly since he knew Voldemort spent so much time obsessively attempting to avoid death's final rule, but he couldn't imagine that being the reason for having such an inscription on his parents' graves.

"It means—it means living beyond death," Sirius said quietly. He cast about for the right way to say it. "It means living beyond death, like leaving behind a legacy. Or perhaps conquering one's fear of death by finding a way to accept it. Of course," he added humorlessly, "Dumbledore could have picked a better way to say it, but I think he was going for something concise and poetic."

"Yeah…" Harry said softly. Tears prickled at his eyes, and he felt them trail down his cheek, hot and wet despite the bitter cold. "I suppose…"

They stood there in silence. Harry appreciated that Sirius wasn't forcing him to speak, but was simply _there,_ putting one arm around his shoulder to comfort him but otherwise allowing him space for his own thoughts.

At last, Harry spoke.

"Hermione and Dumbledore…"

His throat closed up again, still caught up with emotion and thoughts about his parents, but Sirius rescued him.

"You wanted to ask me about them."

Harry nodded stiffly. He wiped his cheeks with the back of his gloved hands, worked his jaw for a moment, and then spoke.

"If you had to pick between listening to Hermione or Dumbledore, who would you choose?"

"That's quite a dilemma," Sirius said, looking surprised.

"I—" Harry swallowed. "Dumbledore showed me a memory of her arguing with him over keeping you shut up in Grimmauld Place…"

"I wish I'd been there for that," Sirius said with a weak chuckle. "All I know is that she got her way in the end."

"What did you think of that?" Harry asked quietly.

There was a long pause, and Harry got the sense that Sirius was thinking his answer over carefully, not to decide how much to tell him, but to figure out how to best answer the real question Harry was asking.

"Dumbledore is a man that does things for the greater good," Sirius said at last. "Hermione takes a more... personalized approach." He let out a long sigh. "I think that if Dumbledore felt in was in the best interest of protecting the Order, he would have kept me locked up in Grimmauld Place for as long as necessary, and wouldn't have cared how long." He gave a harsh, bitter bark of laughter. "Hermione couldn't accept that."

Harry waited, listening to his godfather with rapt attention.

"She tried to convince him to do it her way at first, but he simply said no. He didn't think it was worth the risk." He drew his shoulders up, and then let them slump back down with another sigh, expelling a cloud of frosty breath. "So Hermione made the decision to do it under his nose. She'd been doing stuff like this for years, small-scale stuff—if you want to call breaking me out of Azakaban 'small scale'," he added, with a wry smile. "But she wasn't defying the Headmaster when she did that, and she knew that he was well aware of the evidence that would exonerate me. She knew that he would eventually come around, because of her foreknowledge of the timeline. She knew all would be forgiven." Sirius rubbed his cheek. "What she did for me the second time around was… different."

"So that's when she started going behind Dumbledore's back?"

"Believe me, Harry, I've thought long and hard about this," Sirius said heavily, "because to some degree, it bothered me too, even though I was the one she was helping."

Harry watched him closely. "But you still think she did the right thing."

Sirius smiled. "Wouldn't you?"

"You didn't deserve to be in Azkaban, and Dumbledore couldn't keep you locked up at Headquarters forever," Harry said, with a slight edge to his voice. "Of course she did the right thing. Both times."

Sirius stuffed one hand into the pocket of his coat. "When we were young, Dumbledore was the one we all looked up to." He made a vague gesture with his other hand. "You know what it's like, Harry—the wisest and most powerful wizard alive. He always saw things from higher up, in a way the rest of us couldn't." He looked away. "But then Hermione entered the picture and… things changed. Maybe—maybe if she hadn't gone back in time, if she hadn't had twenty years to experience You-Know-Who and grow into her own power in the interim, she wouldn't have become like this. But now she's a formidable force to be reckoned with, and she's young. She's in the prime of her life, and Dumbledore's nearing the end of his."

Harry licked his chapped lips, thinking this over. It was hard to imagine Dumbledore ever just _dying,_ much less of old age. "But Dumbledore…"

"Dumbledore is leagues ahead of Hermione, but make no mistake Harry, Hermione's gaining on him. She's probably the most powerful witch in Britain. And lately, her plans have been quite a bit more successful than Dumbledore's," Sirius said quietly, "not that I'd ever say that to anyone else—but it's true. So to go back to your original question, if I had to pick between the two of them…" he closed his eyes. "I'd go for the best friend who broke me out of prison because she knew I was innocent, and was willing to risk Dumbledore's wrath to let me enjoy my freedom."

_And most importantly,_ Harry thought, _she succeeded._

"Don't disregard Dumbledore's plans, because there are things he knows that Hermione would never guess, not in a hundred years," Sirius told him quickly, "but Hermione's got the better schemes in the long run."

And then he grinned.

"It's hard to believe our bushy-haired know-it-all became one of the most formidable witches of our time, isn't it?"

Harry had to agree. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, fingers crossing as he finally made his decision.

~o~O~o~

When he returned to the Burrow, it was to find that Bill and the twins had already set up the Christmas tree. Ginny and Selenius had made a paper-link chain and hung it around the living room, draping it over every surface possible. Hermione and Arthur were sitting in the living room, each with their own cup of tea and a plate of biscuits between them. Hermione was settled with a book; Arthur had _The Prophet._ Remus and Tonks were in the kitchen with Molly, sitting at the table together while she made her Christmas feast preparations.

Harry's eyes traveled once to Gaunt's ring on Hermione's finger, and then he went to the kitchen to see if there was any soup to be found; his intestines felt frozen solid from being out in the cold for so long. He sat there, relieved to find a hot bowl of chicken soup waiting for him, and began ladling spoonfuls into his mouth. He felt his insides instantly warm up.

He was now less concerned about getting the ring from Hermione and more concerned about how he was going to find out what Malfoy was up to—or more importantly, why. Voldemort wanted a book, and he had sent Draco to do it—why he hadn't used Snape, Harry wasn't sure, unless it was the fact that Voldemort was still furious with the senior Malfoy's failures over the last year and a half. Perhaps he wanted to make them all suffer a bit, and get _Convulsions of Nature_ in the process. That was all very well, Harry thought, but it still didn't explain how Selenius had gotten entangled in it all. Particularly when Selenius was supposed to be staying out of Voldemort's sight.

As soon as Mrs. Weasley left the kitchen, Harry set his spoon down.

"Have you ever heard of a book called _Convulsions of Nature?"_

Tonks looked at him blankly. Remus slowly set down his cup of tea, looking mildly curious.

"No, I haven't. Is that a particular book you've picked up?"

"No, I've just heard it mentioned once or twice," Harry said with a noncommittal shrug. "I thought you might know what it's about."

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I don't." Remus's fingers curled around his teacup. "Have you checked the Hogwarts library?"

"Yes," Harry lied. "It's not there."

"Then you might try checking Flourish and Blotts. Unless," Remus said delicately, looking at Harry over his cup, "it's not the sort of book you might find in any old store?"

"I don't know," Harry said with a shrug.

Two days later, after much persuasion, Mr. Weasley agreed to take him to Diagon Alley. He and Ron found themselves uncharacteristically perusing shelves, hoping to find the book in question. After an hour of no luck, they threw caution to the wind and asked the clerk for help. The clerk was more than happy to help them, but was disappointed to have to inform them that Flourish and Blotts did not carry it. And after checking several registers, informed them that it was a book they were unlike to ever come across in their lifetime.

"It's heavy on the Dark Arts—particularly the illegal practices—and only seven copies were ever made," he said, tapping the list. "We wouldn't have it."

Harry thanked him and left. He and Ron checked that Mr. Weasley was preoccupied in the Muggle section before darting out of the store and heading down toward Knockturn Alley.

"Borgin and Burkes might know of it," Harry suggested hopefully.

"With only seven copies in the world?" Ron said. "Nah, mate."

They kept their heads low to avoid being recognized until they ducked into the shop. The man Harry realized must be Borgin looked up at their arrival, and his gaze narrowed in suspicion as they approached.

"We're looking for a book," Harry began.

"Then go find a bookshop." The man turned away. "Get out."

"We already checked—" Harry began.

"It's called _Convulsions of Nature,"_ Ron blurted. Harry saw Borgin jump at this, and the man's head slowly turned on point to look at them. "We were wondering if you'd seen it."

To their surprise, Borgin laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.

"You're not the first to ask for it," he sneered, setting down the goblet he had been polishing. "I'm sorry to disappoint you. I sold it over fifteen years ago."

"Who did you buy it from?" Harry demanded.

Borgin spat at the floor. "None of your business, boy."

"Who did you sell it to?" Ron asked.

"That's none of your business, either. When I last saw that book, you were in nappies." Borgin bared his teeth at them. "You shouldn't stick your nose where it isn't wanted. Now either buy something or get out."

Harry stood his ground. "Can you at least tell us what the book's about?"

Borgin eyed Harry for a long moment, and then said, "Fifty Galleons."

"What?"

"Fifty Galleons, and I'll tell you everything about the book—except for who I sold it to, of course."

Harry reached into his pockets, and began counting out coins. "I have thirty."

"Hand it over." Harry dumped the money onto the counter, and Borgin said, "It's Dark Arts, though that's largely because of the subjects it covers. But it's a pretty dark book itself." He stroked his chin as he began counting out Harry's money. "Anything you ever wanted to know about how to defy the laws of nature, it's in there. Death, alchemic transmutation, time, ley lines, manipulation of prophecies and magical fate—everything you ever dreamed of, boy, it's in that book."

_No wonder Voldemort wants it,_ Harry thought.

Borgin leaned forward, bracing his arm against the counter.

"Most of the knowledge in there was never meant for humankind. It's the sort of thing that other magical creatures know and never tell," Borgin whispered. "There are only seven copies, and each one is bound with a different animal skin, or so I'm told. The one I had was dragon-bound, and it was a vicious thing."

Ron's eyebrows had risen to his hairline in confusion. "I don't understand."

"The wizard who created those books didn't write them, boy," Borgin spat. "Herpo the Foul slew seven magical beasts, bound their souls into their skins, and enspelled them to organize and leak all of the magical knowledge they contained." He gave the red-head a nasty grin. "It was insatiable curiosity that caused him to commit such an atrocity, I reckon."

Harry felt his hair stand on end. Any question as to why Voldemort wanted the book were dismissed—the reasons were obvious.

"What do you mean 'again'?"

"Headmaster Dippet sold it to my business partner some fifty years ago," he said, running his tongue over his teeth. "Burke sold it to Hepzibah Smith a year after it fell into our possession, and her family didn't sell it back to me until two decades after she died."

Harry's breath caught. Hepzibah Smith had been a collector of rare artifacts, not a maniac with plans to take over Britain. Barring her bad judgment in acquaintances, the book would have been safe with her. It was a shock that Voldemort hadn't found it there—perhaps he hadn't even realized she owned it. Harry quickly did calculations in his head. Dippet would have sold the book while Voldemort was in school, which was probably where he first came across it. Perhaps it was even where he learned about Horcruxes. Hepzibah bought it before Tom Riddle began working at Borgins and Burkes. Voldemort had been stuck in Albania during the time period that Borgin had sold it a second time. It was incredibly fortuitous that he had never gotten his hands on the book outside of the Hogwarts Library, in the fifty years that it had been taken out of circulation.

Harry had an inkling suspicion that Voldemort might have been searching for that book his entire adult life.

"Then—then you've got to tell us who has it!" Ron exclaimed.

"Vol—You-Know-Who's looking for that book," Harry interjected, before Borgin could speak. "We need to find it before he does."

Borgin bared his teeth at them.

"It's the only copy in all of Britain, and I haven't got it anymore," he hissed. "Leave."

"Wait," Harry said, holding his hand up. "One more question. Did the book ever mention the Deathly Hallows?"

Borgin's eyes narrowed at him for a moment.

"I've told you what you paid for. Get out!"

The two boys quickly exited the shop. The bell jangled overhead, and they glanced back at Borgin before hurrying down the street.

"We've got to find out who has it," Harry panted, as they ducked around the corner. "Voldemort's looking for that book, and if he gets it, it's all over."

"Borgin knows, but he's not telling," Ron said. "Didn't you say You-Know-Who used to work there?"

This drew Harry to a halt. "You don't think he knows Borgin had it in his possession while he was gone, do you?"

"If he did, we wouldn't be talking to Borgin, we'd be reading his obituary in _The Prophet_," Ron said in a hushed tone.

Harry rubbed his hands together. "And the way he threw us out at the end—there's definitely a mention of the Deathly Hallows in there somewhere."

He and Ron exchanged looks. Ron sighed.

"Why do people have to go around compiling this stuff for any old maniac to find?"

* * *

**Please review!**

**~Anubis Ankh**


	30. Chapter 34

**A/N: You are in luck. I did manage to get this tweaked and edited and de-typoed in time for Monday. No guarantees about the next chapter, but I've already posted at least two weeks ahead of schedule, so in the event that I don't post, I won't have to feel _too_ guilty. Enjoy! I know many of you have been hoping for a chapter of this sort...**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

**Please review!**

* * *

Three days before Christmas, Hermione returned home to Spinner's End. She surprised her husband on Christmas morning by catching him in the midst of breakfast preparations. In fact, breakfast preparations were put on hold; she pressed him up against the counter and kissed him fiercely, pulling off his robe and working her way down his chest with licks and nibbles. He didn't stand a chance, and was panting and gasping for breath by the time she got down on her knees.

"Happy Christmas," she told him mischievously, and then took him to the hilt. He let out a hard-won moan as she had her merry way with him.

He was looking delightfully disheveled by the time he had gathered his wits enough to pull her up and lift her onto the counter. Neither cared that this was where food was prepared; it was their kitchen, after all. And they always cleaned up thoroughly. He pressed his face against her breasts, reveling in their warmth and softness before taking one between his teeth.

"You've ruined my breakfast plans, witch," he mumbled through a mouthful of nipple.

Hermione glanced over at the thoroughly beaten egg-and-milk mix in a nearby bowl, the uncooked bacon slices, and the bits of balled-up dough in a pan that were meant to baked into rolls. She leaned back, bracing herself on one hand, and thrust her arm out toward the food. They instantly hopped to life: the pan flew into the oven, the egg yolk glided out of the bowl and onto the pre-heated pan, and the bacon followed suit. Severus's eyes widened in astonishment as she turned to give him a smug, self-satisfied smile.

And then he smirked, his eyes dark and daring.

"Try to keep that up while I do _this._"

And then he slid into her. Hermione grabbed onto him for dear life as he did everything within his power to drive her incoherent and insensate.

By the time they were finished, the food was ever so slightly overdone, but the show went on: breakfast was served.

~o~O~o~

Severus had a weak spot for his wife.

Particularly when his pretty wife was naked save for a scrap of lacy panties and one of his white button-up shirts that were a size too large for her.

He was meant to be reading. It was Christmas Day. He was allowed some peace and quiet in his home library, the opportunity to recline and enjoy himself. And the couch was disgustingly comfortable. But his eyes never quite stayed on the page long enough to understand the printed text.

He swore she knew what she was doing, though she would likely deny it if said aloud. But he was trying to read, and she was exceptionally distracting with the way she fussed about the scraggly tree, trying to give it some color and Christmas spirit. It was their house, her home, and she could march through it in the nude if she liked. But it made him feel like a schoolboy again; there was no dueling involved this time, but the fascination was the same. Watching how she moved when she wasn't covered up in teaching robes drew his attention with hypnotic sway. How could it not?

She glanced over at him over her shoulder, and his suspicions were confirmed. She knew. He felt his sallow cheeks turn flush. Twenty years. Nearly twenty years he had known her, and she still had inexplicable power to do this to him.

She licked her lips. He pulled the book up, attempting to salvage some dignity by hiding his expression under the flimsy excuse of reading.

A moment later, the book was pressed down by an insistent hand, and he was forced to look up.

He scowled. She laughed.

And then she was straddling him, and quite suddenly, the book was in the way; a categorical inconvenience. He let it drop to the floor. She cupped his cheeks with both hands, pressing her nose to his.

"Ready to open presents?"

Making love came before presents. It came right after, too.

~o~O~o~

Making lunch was an even less dignified affair than breakfast had been.

Glazed ham was not terribly difficult to attend to when one was a witch, even when one was a witch being bent over the kitchen table and spanked until her arse was bright red. The lemon cream pie was another matter, especially when some of the cool whip went to covering the blushing red handprints. The burgundy mushrooms were nearly impossible when the whip was licked off with long, lazy licks interspersed with nibbles and love-bites. By the time lunch was served, Hermione was reduced to a whimpering puddle of desire.

He tormented her throughout the meal. As soon as the dishes were put away and the table was clear, he directed her to lie on her back and spread her legs. It was an autocratic order that she complied with in haste, and he licked his lips in anticipation before bending over and grasping her thighs, pulling her apart further and angling his head before feasting upon her. Her head thunked back against the table. Dessert was delightful, to say the least. Taking her on the table when she was incoherent with need ranked high on his list of visions to treasure; it was difficult to top the sight of his wife spread before him in lustful abandon.

He kissed a trail down her belly while she came down from her high. She sighed softly and wound her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp with gentle strokes that made him feel like a sleepy cat under a practiced hand. Had he the vocal capabilities for it, he might have purred. As it was, he came rather close to doing so anyway.

He would never tire of this. Never.

~o~O~o~

It was a long day. He was tired.

His head shot up in surprise and he quickly stopped being tired when something hot drizzled down his exposed back. He had been lying belly-down on the couch, bored of sitting, unable to read comfortably in any upright position, and had very nearly fallen asleep using his book for a pillow. He twisted his neck around to look, and realized it was melted chocolate. His shirt had been done away with without his even noticing.

He let his head drift back down, his hair curtaining his view of the world in an inky spill. She laughed; somehow, his hackles stayed put when it was his wife who laughed at him. Perhaps it was because he knew where she lived. She wouldn't laugh at him cruelly with that in mind. You don't laugh at a Slytherin whose bed you share unless it's meant with the best of intentions. He snorted to himself at this, which elicited another peal of delight from her.

And then her tongue was on him, warm and moist against his skin, and he sighed as the chocolate was licked off. She straddled him, bending over to lick him clean, and he couldn't bring himself to protest at the weight. His discomfort was gone; he was remarkably happy where he was right now, even if he wasn't reading. Her hands rested on his shoulders, pressing and rubbing to loosen the knots, and he let out a contented sigh as she continued to work her magic.

Her hands squirmed underneath his belly to undo the buckle of his pants, and he lifted himself up slightly to give her better access. Talented witch like her could have slithered his trousers off with a snap of her fingers, but she preferred to be more hands-on. The pants were slowly tugged down just enough to expose his bare arse, and he felt her bend over to breathe air on the places she'd licked chocolate off him earlier. The muscles in his back jumped and twitched at this, and she pressed kisses to them before scooting further down his body so that she was resting on the back of his legs, just above the knees.

She began massaging his buttocks. He turned his head the other way, resting his cheek against his forgotten book. He felt ridiculous, with only part of his lower body exposed like this, but she was his wife, and she did as she pleased with him. He did the same to her often enough. And though she would find amusement at the way he responded when she first poured melted chocolate down his backside, she would never, ever laugh at him for this.

He was relaxed and limp as a rag doll when she poured dabs of chocolate on the globes of his arse. The muscles of his legs twitched at this, the only indication he had noticed. And then her tongue and teeth were on him, in not-so-subtle vengeance for what he had put her through for lunch, and he let a drawn-out moan escape him, disguised as a sigh.

The pants were tugged down another few inches. When she had first developed this seductive habit, Severus had been plagued by memories of James Potter taking off his trousers by the lake in front of the assembled students. He had no qualms about how his wife saw his body; it was merely the act of making a production out of unveiling it that irked him. But he never said a word about it to Hermione, and it didn't take long for him to learn to enjoy it. Any humiliation he'd ever felt about it was buried under the increasingly pleasant experiences at the tender mercies of his wife. He was totally exposed at her whim, completely at her mercy, and he was too lulled by her hands and tongue and talent to care.

Her hands ran up and down the backs of his legs, and then more chocolate was added. A nip here, a bite there that would certainly leave a purple mark, and he sighed and shifted his legs further apart. She rewarded him by licking the chocolate off and kissing the places she had left love bites. There was a hiss of leather as the belt buckle was pulled out of its loops, and she leaned forward until her lips were by his ear.

"Put your hands out."

He complied. The belt wove four times around his arms, and was then secured. It was fairly loose, and had he half a mind to do so, he could easily slip free. In fact, if he didn't keep his arms pressed against the couch, it would probably slip off of its own accord. It was merely the illusion of having him at her mercy that titillated her, and once she had put him in this sleepy, semi-hypnotic state, it never occurred to him to _not_ obey. She used her wiles to seduce him into compliancy, and the bonds were merely confirmation of her success. She was talented, his witch.

She rewarded him by licking and nibbling on the shell of his ear. His eyes finally fluttered close. She brushed his hair back with her fingers to expose his neck, and began working on that, too.

They normally did not have the opportunity to do this. Not this way. Hours were spent teaching, and if not patrolling, then marking essays and grading tests. If they were lucky, they got a full night's sleep. Sex was easy enough to arrange here and there, and it was certainly an excellent stress reliever. But it was not this slow, teasingly worshipful, vulnerable tearing down of his walls in a manner that left him sleepy and sated and feeling distinctly adored. Where, in all of that, would they have time or energy enough to do _this?_

The trousers were dragged down another few tantalizing inches, exposing the back of his knees. Almost immediately, he knew what was coming, but could not have braced himself for it. Chocolate was poured there, and he kicked out in ticklish reflex. Or he would have, if she had not known better than to properly tangle his pants around his lower legs so his movement was reduced to a spastic jerk. He felt her grip his trousers, twisting the fabric so that they left little room to move, and then her tongue was lapping up the chocolate.

She was clever in her seduction, but her attempts at sexual revenge lacked subtlety, for all that they were eminently successful. She was torturing him in a most delightful way, just as he had with her that afternoon, and he only had the energy to gasp and moan, muffling the sounds against the couch. At last, she was done, and the trousers were finally drawn around his ankles in an untidy heap.

And then she tapped his side with two fingers, indicating he should turn over. More than happy to hide his sensitive and ticklish spots from her, he did so, and she ran her hands up his body until she reached his chest, and then swung her leg over him again. His arms were folded behind his head, in the tangled, loose wrap of his belt, propping his head up at a comfortable angle.

She smiled at him, promising mischief of the best sort.

When she slid down on him, taking him inside her, he had to agree: it was mischief he was only too happy to submit himself to. It was even better when she cried out his name in a low, breathy moan.

When she was done abusing his person (in a most delightful way, his mind helpfully reminded him) she lay sprawled on top of him, pillowing her head on his chest and wearing a happy, sated smile that matched his own.

"I love you," he murmured sleepily, worming his arms free of the belt so that he could wrap them around her torso.

She pulled the belt up so that he could slither his arms out more easily, and then let it drop to the side.

She kissed him with loving adoration.

"I love you, too," she whispered. "Merry Christmas."

~o~O~o~

Hermione and Severus spent the remaining time before term resumed at Tine Cottage with their son. Sirius was staying at the Burrow, which left the property entirely to themselves and the cranky, aging hippogriff.

Hermione had hot tea and cakes waiting for them when they returned from flying around the rocky shore. She watched them through the kitchen window; Buckbeak dove into the surf, splashing them both. His talons grazed the green glass surface of the ocean when he glided further out, leaving behind a thin stream in his wake.

She smiled, setting down the teapot with the thought that if this was a taste of what life might resemble when the war was over, it couldn't come fast enough.

* * *

**Please review!**

**-Anubis Ankh**


	31. Chapter 35

**A/N: I have a week-long internship next week, so this is to placate you in advance. Have a good weekend! This story is steadily moving along. It's not at the homestretch just yet, but it's beating down the track, so to speak.**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

**Please review!**

* * *

The day after they returned to school, classes resumed. Draco had spent most of break combing the library, to no avail. There were dark circles under his eyes when he walked into Defence, and he slumped down into his seat to wait for class to begin. Professor Granger was sitting at her desk, leaning back in her chair with both feet propped up and a book. She was finishing up a bite of toast with her tea. As always, the vase had a fresh rose in it. Draco's head sank down onto his desk with a sigh; he knew there could be only one person who would send her a rose, much less live to tell the tale, and he was still hard-pressed to believe it was his Head of House.

But he had confronted Selenius about it months ago, and knew it to be true. He forced his head back up as other students walked in, and through bleary eyes, tried to focus on the title of the Professor's book. He eventually gave up and let his head drop back down on the desk with an undignified thump.

The other students finished filing in, and Professor Granger stood up.

Draco's eyes snapped open as soon as Granger said, "We'll be doing some dueling today."

He was scrambling out of his chair as quickly as he could out of pure instinct, as were the rest of his classmates, because they had long since learned that when Granger said this, she meant _we're starting right now._ The sound of chairs scraping as they were hastily pushed back was interrupted by a loud bang, and Terry Boot hastily ducked behind a desk, peering over the top to aim his wand in retaliation.

The classroom erupted into predictable chaos. Chairs were knocked over, a desk was overturned. The portraits in the room rattled in place on the wall, and some painted occupants even ducked out of their frames in the interest of self-preservation. Spells crisscrossed, turning the room into a bit of a light show as they all vied to be the first to take down Granger. Thus far, they'd never succeeded.

A Stunner was aimed at Draco, and he quickly ducked behind Granger's desk for cover, falling to his knees and pointing under the desk to aim for her feet. He hastily backed away a moment later when he realized Granger would not hesitate to destroy her own desk, and narrowly avoided getting caught up in her Blasting Hex. He threw up a Shield Charm, protecting himself from the force of the spell, and found himself gazing up at Professor Granger from where he lay on all fours on the floor, trapped against the wall.

The things on her desk were still flying, but they had slowed; she had halted their fall, and they now floated in the air around them, as though caught in a moment. The vase, still intact with the rose. Her cup of tea and unfinished toast. Her book. As she wheeled around to defend herself from the students at her back, Malfoy's eyes locked onto the book floating just a few feet away.

The title caught his attention. He stopped breathing.

_Convulsions… of… Nature…_

There was a glow of red between his eyes, and he quickly rolled out of the way in time to avoid another Stunner. Panting, he scrambled to his feet, wand raised, and retaliated with a silently-cast Stunner of his own.

She dodged.

"Good! Ten points to Slytherin for casting silently!"

At this point, Draco didn't care about points. His eyes snapped back to the book, already scheming how he was going to steal it.

It floated in the air above him, so close, yet just out of his grasp.

~o~O~o~

"You found the book?" Selenius asked excitedly, when he and Draco crossed paths on the way to their next class.

"Yes," Draco said, frowning.

"If you found it, what's the problem?"

Draco quickly looked both ways to check for eavesdroppers before answering.

"Your mum's got it."

Selenius's eyes went blank. "What's she got it for?"

"I don't know. She probably checked it out." Draco rubbed his tired eyes, and sighed. "If I hadn't seen it, I never would have guessed."

"Are you sure it's not her copy?"

Draco gave him a look, as though to ask if Selenius was really that naïve. Selenius threw up his hands.

"I mean, I've seen my parents' libraries. Both of them. I wouldn't be surprised if they had a copy of their own." Selenius shrugged. "But then again—what are the odds?"

"There's only seven copies in the world," Draco said testily, as they descended the stairs. "Less, probably. What are the odds that two of them would be in Hogwarts?" He took another stab. "How would your parents even afford their own copy?"

Selenius bristled. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Draco said heatedly, "that a book like that would cost thousands of Galleons. My parents would have that kind of money lying around, but yours?"

Selenius's lips pressed into a thin line, but then he raised an eyebrow. "You may be right. Let's assume for a moment that you're right, and it's the library's copy. How are you going to get hold of it?"

Draco's face turned thoughtful. "I'm not going to wait for her to return it. It'd mean we'd have to hunt it down _again _and then strip it and sneak it out. It'd be easier to just take it now."

"Good luck with that," Selenius said dryly.

"Look, I'll think of a way," Draco said, grabbing both of Selenius's shoulders and halting him so that they were facing each other. "At the very least, the fact that I've found it means I'm done with the Dark Lord."

"He said that as long as you bring him the book, he won't stop you from doing your apprenticeship, right?"

"That's the price," Draco said shortly. Selenius watched his eyes flicker away, and he understood; Draco was doing this for his own survival, his own ticket out of Voldemort's clutches, but he was feeling at least a bit guilty about what he had to do to accomplish it. Professor Granger—Selenius's mother—would take a bit of heat for losing a terribly expensive, rare book. But the price of a book for the price of his life was an easy choice to make, and Selenius agreed with him.

"Look, we'll duplicate it," Draco said reasonably. "We just need to get hold of it long enough to spell a copy. We'll take the duplicate to the Dark Lord, he won't know the difference."

Selenius nodded. That sounded reasonable to him.

"So you're still in?" Draco asked, looking oddly worried yet hopeful.

Selenius smiled. "Of course."

~o~O~o~

Hermione leaned back in her chair, tapping her book, thinking. Harry had five more sessions with her over the past month and a half, having just left his most recent one, and the Dark Lord's mind was a veritable goldmine of information. The issue was that she was logging this as information Severus had gotten from the Dark Lord, and it meant that Dumbledore was reluctant to act upon some of it, which made their game rather frustrating and unproductive.

She was stumped as to how to go around doing this. In a world that catered to her convenience, Dumbledore would hand the reins over to her. But she had to hide where she was really getting information from.

The Ministry was an alternate consideration. Hermione had Scrimgeour under her thumb. Getting him to act upon this information might be better than dumping it all in Dumbledore's lap. She appreciated that Dumbledore was trying to avoid getting Severus killed by playing their hand, but the caution was working against them now. Scrimgeour had taken every scrap of information she had given him and milked it for all it was worth. Perhaps it was time to turn to him.

She glanced at the vase absently. The rose he normally gave her was put up in her hair today, as she always did every Valentine's Day. As usual, he had stolen it from Pomona's stores. The Herbology Professor still wasn't quite on speaking terms with him anymore, ever since he had begun daily theft. Albus refused to discourage him. Hermione couldn't stop herself from grinning. Her husband enjoyed giving people grief, however minor, in highly amusing ways.

They had dinner plans tonight—in an hour, in fact. Grading could wait, and they were generously relieved of patrol duties for the evening. Hermione stood and began tidying up. Books and papers were pushed into the desk, and with a flick of her wand, all the other desks in the room vanished as well except for one, which Hermione transfigured into a small iron-wrought table with a clear glass top.

She conjured two chairs and, snatching the vase from her desk, she set it in the center and plucked the rose from her hair. She dropped it in, tapped it once to fill it with water, and dropped into one of the chairs.

Almost five minutes later, the door opened, and her husband slipped inside. He shut the door with the heel of his boot, took five steps across the room, and set down the bottle of Rosmerta's champagne and the plates he had been carrying. They were laden with food, a simple meal that made Hermione's mouth water on sight: strawberries and crème with steak that had been cooked to perfection.

"The house elves," Severus began, taking his seat and letting out a rather put-upon sigh, "are surprisingly territorial about the use of the kitchens."

"Poor dear," Hermione teased, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "Did you have to argue with them?"

"No, I threatened them," Severus said, smirking as Hermione began cutting apart their shared steak. He pointed his wand at the door, warding it firmly shut against eavesdropping and entering. "But enough about bloody house-elves." He picked up a strawberry, swirling into the gelatinous crème and offering it to Hermione, who took it into her mouth. "How's the selection?"

Hermione made a low sound of appreciation as she bit into the fruit, and Severus gave her a smug smile. And then chuckled, dark and low.

"It's difficult to believe we've been married for nearly seventeen years now." He pressed a finger against her lips, tracing it and then kissed her. And then his expression grew somber. "About how old we were when we got tangled up in this…"

"It's been a long time," Hermione agreed softly.

"Too long," he said quietly.

Hermione leaned her head forward, and he did the same, pressing it against hers. "It'll be over soon."

He closed his eyes. "I believe you."

They shared several bites of steak before Hermione finally got around to opening the bottle, flicking the top with her finger and causing the cork to pop out with a silent spell. Severus caught it, setting it aside as his wife poured both of their glasses.

"Happy Valentine's, love."

They clinked glasses.

~o~O~o~

"So when are you planning to get the book?"

"Soon. Bishop to G-3. What about that book you stole from the library?" Draco asked casually, changing the subject. "Returned it yet?"

Selenius shook his head. "Not even an eighth of the way through," he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "But I'm making progress."

"You've had it for two months," Draco said. "Would have thought you'd be done reading it by now."

"Oh, I finished _reading_ it," Selenius said, leaning back in his chair. He rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the kinks in his neck. "I'm practicing the spells, they're right useful. Not returning the book until I've got them all. Pawn to B-8—queen me."

"You're mad. That book was from the restricted section—"

"So?" Selenius prompted.

"You're just a second-year—"

"My mum brewed Polyjuice Potion when she was in second-year, how is this any different?"

Draco visibly paused. "You're kidding."

"No, I'm not." Selenius shifted in his seat.

"Rook to D-6. So tell me," Draco said with a tone of light curiosity, "why are you so desperate to learn those spells? It's obvious that they're out of your league—"

"They're not," Selenius retorted hotly. "I can do them!"

"Yes, but you haven't told me why you're so desperate to do this." Draco gestured at him. "It's almost as though you're trying to… compensate for something."

Selenius stewed there in silence for a moment, and then he said sharply, "Bishop to D-6."

Draco blinked, and then his jaw fell open of its own accord as he realized what Selenius had done. Then he clenched it shut. He had ambushed his king while simultaneously taking out his Rook. There was no way out. The younger boy stood up.

"Check. Next move is checkmate." He picked up his bag and hefted it over his shoulder. "And to answer your question, no, I'm not compensating for anything. I just like to have a well-stocked arsenal."

He left, leaving Draco with the finished chess game. The Slytherin sat there for several minutes, torn between muffled amusement and consternation, before he leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

Selenius was a smart and talented individual, but there was no doubt that he was tainted by the fault of all Gryffindors: they were terribly transparent, and it was quite clear that Draco had stumbled upon a sore spot. He chewed on the discovery for a few moments, and finally came to a tentative conclusion: it was age. Selenius was trying to make up for his age and inexperience by learning the most advanced spells he could get his hands on.

It made sense, in a way. He hardly spent time with students in his year. The youngest person he had in close acquaintance was probably one of the Gryffindor Beaters, and he was a good three years older than Selenius. The other students Selenius had shanghaied into playing chess with him were at least four years older. And Potter, his god-brother—the very thought made Draco feel slightly ill—was six years older.

There were other things, of course. Selenius didn't talk about it very much, if at all, but Draco could tell that he was struggling to keep pace with them. He said more about his childhood now that Draco knew who his parents really were, but the impression Draco got was that he had never been around anyone his age until Hogwarts. It made sense, then, that he was more comfortable being around older people, but when they were leaving him behind in the dust—academically and socially—it was a battle for him to keep up.

Draco half-wondered if Selenius was planning on whipping them all in a duel to earn his place in their ranks, and then reminded himself that the younger boy was not in Slytherin. Gryffindors were too bleeding-hearted to consider duels an appropriate way to settle status disputes.

He picked up his bag, and after taking a moment to put away the chess set, left as well. He still had a Duplication Spell to research.

~o~O~o~

Easter Break was fast approaching, and Draco knew he would have to make his move quickly. It was now or never. Filch didn't check the luggage leaving the castle, which was his only chance before term ended. He had considered owling his parents with the news that he had found the book, but he had thought better of it: if he failed to retrieve it, retribution for failure would be that much worse.

It was why he snuck into the classroom the day before break. Everyone was at the Great Hall for lunch except for him. The book was in her desk, though it was lightly warded, requiring Draco to waste precious time carefully unraveling them before he could open the drawer and pull it out.

It was a very well-worn book, and sat heavily in his hands. It was bound with blood-red dragonhide, and the pages were gold-tipped. Draco glanced around the room quickly before opening the book.

Pain exploded behind his eyes, as though someone had thrown hot pepper into his eyes. The fell to the floor with an audible thump, and he let out a cry and covered his face, trying to blink away the burn. He hadn't expected to be attacked by the book, and he was paying for his carelessness. He doubled-over, burying his face in his hands, waiting for the pain to recede. When it did, he chanced a glance back at the book.

The pages were flipping of their own accord, and finally came to a stop at the flyleaf. Ink was spilling out onto the page, forming the stylized depiction of an angry dragon, with its maw agape and ready to snap. Draco squinted at it, his eyes still stinging a bit, and tried to confirm whether it was just his imagination or not that he thought there was a spark of flame in the detailed mouth.

Draco stared at it in awe. He was stumped. He had never come across a book such as this before, and if he ever had, his parents had always forbidden him to touch it. He wasn't prepared to deal with this sort of book, and he feared that if he tried to approach it, it would launch itself at him. He slowly got to his feet, wand out, in case it tried to attack him.

The book let out a rumbling growl, and Draco watched as a scaly tail begain to slither out from the space between the bindings, twitching like an angry cat.

"_Deditionem libris!"_

The jet of white light struck the posturing book. It immediately retreated like a turtle, the tail withdrawing and the covers snapping shut. It let out another soft growl, but then fell silent, as though sulking.

Draco knew it was now or never, and scrambled over to tap the book with his wand. "_Gemino!"_

The book let out strangled shriek that Draco was sure would send people barging into the classroom to see who was being murdered. It flapped its covers and lunged at him, and Draco quickly skittered backwards before it could reach him, and then threw himself forward and slammed down on it with his knees, holding it shut. It did not duplicate. Panicking, and feeling the book struggling to throw him off with increasingly violent attempts, he threw himself off and scrabbled on hands and knees to get away. He made it to the door, slamming it shut behind him just in time to hear a thump as the book smacked into it.

The tip of a scaly red tail slipped under the door and then flickered out of view. Heart racing, knowing that whatever was behind the door was beyond his ability to handle, Draco did what any self-respecting Slytheirn would do: he turned tail and fled the scene before the noise drew attention. He rounded the corner just in time to hear footsteps, and pressed himself against the wall as he heard Professor Granger returning to her classroom from the other directoin.

He heard the sound of the door opening. He heard his professor let out a sound of surprise that resembled exasperation more than fright, and he peered around the corner in time to see her pinning the book to the ground—tail and claws vanished—with both hands.

"How did _you_ get out?" she asked.

The book let out a soft but audible snarl. Professor Granger lifted up her foot and picked it up, stroking the cover. The book let out a resigned sort of sigh in response, and then became quiescent. Draco had the distinct impression that it was pouting mutinously.

"You are the most difficult book I've ever owned. It's a wonder I keep you around."

Draco was not at first aware that he had stopped breathing until he heard the door to her classroom shut, and he let out a strangled gasp for air. So it _was _Professor Granger's book! How she had gotten hold of it without a family fortune to rival the Malfoys' behind her was beyond his ability to guess, but that was beside the point now. Firstly, as things stood, he wasn't even capable of subduing the book long enough to kidnap it. Secondly, it refused to duplicate. And thirdly… he had a difficult time resigning himself to stealing something so valuable from his godfather's wife and the same woman who had helped him secure his ticket out of the Dark Lord's service.

He felt himself slowly slide down to the cold stone floor in despair.

_What am I going to do?_

* * *

**Please review!**

**-Anubis Ankh**


	32. Chapter 36

**A/N: As it is debatable whether I will be able to post on Monday, I am posting this now.**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

**Please review!**

* * *

This was Harry's final session with her until they returned from break. They were in the classroom, and though the Hogwarts Express had already left, Hermione had arranged for a Portkey back to the Burrow as soon as they were done. Ginny and Ron had not yet arrived; Hermione had asked Harry to come half an hour earlier. And they were alone in the classroom now, as Hermione flipped over the blackboard so that Harry could see the ritual circle she had spent the last several months working on.

"I'm going to tell you something that Dumbledore's been keeping from you for a long time," Hermione said, as Harry drank in the lines and runes. They were meaningless to him, but he was still fascinated by their intensity. "I know you never took ancient runes, and Hogwarts doesn't teach Alchemy beyond brewing potions. But first, let's start with the secret that's been kept from you for the past seventeen years."

She jabbed her finger at Harry's forehead.

"The reason your scar never fully healed, the reason it hurts when the Dark Lord's around, the reason you have a link to his head," she said, ticking each item off with a trace of each jagged point of his scar, "is because when the Dark Lord tried to kill you, the spell backfired. His soul was already so unstable from creating so many horcruxes that when struck, his soul split itself again and latched onto the nearest living thing—_you."_

She didn't give Harry a minute to register this, though she saw his jaw drop and his eyes widen in horror and understanding. She plowed on.

"Dumbledore's plan this entire time was for all of Voldemort's horcruxes to be destroyed so that he'll be mortal once more. And aside from Nagini, you are the last one. And until—no, _unless_ that last bit of soul is killed—he can't die." She saw Harry's knees shake slightly, as though they might collapse underneath him, but he managed to hold himself steady. She gave him a very perturbed frown. "Really gives meaning to the phrase, 'Neither can live while the other survives', doesn't it?"

Harry swallowed. "So that's it? I have to die?"

"Are you willing to die?" Hermione asked curiously.

"No. Yes," Harry amended. "I mean, I don't _want_ to die, obviously. But if it means killing him, I would."

Hermione laughed, causing Harry to give her a pained, disturbed sort of look. He clearly didn't think this was funny. She tapped the blackboard.

"It's not necessary. I've figured out a way to remove the bit of soul from you." She smiled. "It'll have to wait until I get the white Philosopher's Stone back, but I've come up with a ritual to break your link."

For a moment, she thought Harry might have stopped breathing.

And then he said, "Really?"

Hermione beamed at him. "Yes, really."

She traced one of the circles with a chalk-covered finger. "It's complicated, but I'll try to keep it simple. You'll stand here. You will be hit by the Killing Curse, which will cause your soul to leave your body—but it will be trapped in the greater circle, which will guide it back into your body. There will be an object within one of the smaller circles that will trap the Dark Lord's piece of soul within it, but your soul will return to your body unhindered."

"You found a way to… to avoid being killed by a Killing Curse?" Harry asked faintly. Hermione got the impression he had not quite followed her explanation, but had at least wrapped his head around its purpose.

"It's been tried before. I'm not the first." Hermione licked her lips. "It's not the same as what happened to you. This ritual isn't exactly a defense against the curse itself, and it requires an astronomical amount of energy to accomplish. It's not well known, and understandably, scarcely tested."

She saw Harry's apprehension morph into determination.

"Well, I guess I'd rather try this than walk up to Voldemort and politely ask him to kill me," he said casually.

"I quite agree."

The door opened, signaling Ron and Ginny's arrival. With a flick of Hermione's wand, the chalk vanished from the blackboard in a puff of dust. Harry, sensing that the discussion was over, turned away from the blackboard to find a seat on the floor. He crossed his legs, closed his eyes, turning his focus on the task of tapping into Riddle's mind. His two friends sat next to him without a moment's hesitation. They knew the routine by now. He had not once been caught, and Hermione had to color herself impressed to the point of giddiness. Her godson had truly come a long way. The odds of him being caught grew greater with each session, she knew, especially since Severus had reported that the Dark Lord was clearly feeling the effects.

Tom Riddle's temper had grown shorter than ever, and if there was one word with which to describe the Dark Lord, it was cranky. He had begun to suffer from constant headaches, and though he had brewed his own remedies before, he had begun to requisition Severus's services as a Potions Master to do it for him. It meant that Severus was absent more than ever, given he was only allowed to brew them under the watchful eye of Wormtail, but in a roundabout way, this had turned into an advantage for him. He spent more time in the Dark Lord's stronghold in a position to gather information simply because the Dark Lord had better things to do with his time than brew his own possets.

It was astonishing to Hermione how easily the Dark Lord's weak links were to exploit. He had no idea Harry was in his mind, filching information from his most private recesses. He was suffering from unexplained migraines, and it was affecting his judgment and general well-being. And because of both, Severus was excluded from suspicion of spying and given still all the more opportunity to spy for the Order.

The Dark Lord knew that they had information because they had acted upon it. It had also become clear to Hermione through Harry's observations that while he was suspicious of Severus and several other followers at first, he had done a few underhanded tests on how information was dispersed to try and rat out the traitor. When it became clear that none of them had ever had access to the information the Order was using, the Dark Lord had flown into a rage. Harry, Ron, and Ginny had collapsed into conniptions of laughter instead.

Harry had improved to the point where he could murmur what he was seeing as it was happening, and he did so now, his eyes closed in meditative concentration as he began tapping into the link.

"He's at Malfoy Manor," Harry said, his brow furrowing as he took in his surroundings through Tom Riddle's eyes. "He knows about the meeting. The one that Scrimgeour invited me to. He's discussing it with Rookwood."

Hermione frowned as she came to kneel beside him. "What are they saying?"

"Voldemort's asking about security measures. Rookwood says he doesn't know, because Scrimgeour's made changes that were never in place when he worked at the Department of Mysteries," Harry said, carefully enunciating every word. Ginny squeezed his hand, and Hermione saw him squeeze back. "He's thinking about how angry he is about his last few plans being foiled—the Diadem, the Philosopher's Stone, Charlie. He's wondering if his next plan will fail, too."

The Dark Lord was beginning to doubt himself? Hermione couldn't have been more pleased.

"What are those plans?" she pressed.

Harry's face scrunched up. "I don't know," he said after several moments. "He's put those under another layer of Occlumency. He's… he's determinedly trying not to think about those plans, actually. He's being paranoid. He thinks his last few plans failed because he was obsessing over them, and that they were somehow exploited that way. Right now, he's thinking about who would have the skill to do that without being detected."

"Who is he thinking of?" Hermione asked, her heart racing.

There was a moment's pause. "Snape," Harry said. "Snape's there, too. He's in the cellar with Wormtail, brewing. But he dismissed him almost immediately. Lucius Malfoy, because of his son, but he's ruled him out, too—he doesn't think Malfoy would have the courage to do that. Next he's thinking of Nott, but he hardly gave him a second thought. He doesn't think it's him." There was a pause. "He's just dismissed Rookwood, and he's… now he's plotting how he's going to kill me at the meeting. He's thinking of Malfoy. He's thinking that if Malfoy hasn't brought him the book, he's going to either kill him or force him to atone for failure, because he needs that book to make this work."

"Wonderful," Ginny said. There was slight sarcasm to her tone, but it wasn't enough to hide the pride in her voice. Harry smiled slightly at this.

"He knows Dumbledore's going to be there, too. And you," Harry said, his eyes still shut, but with a look of intense concentration upon his face. "He's thinking… that Dumbledore has something that he wants, and so do you. The top officials in every department at the Ministry is going to be there, so he's thinking that he's going to take us down in one fell swoop—_oh!"_

He suddenly clutched his head, and Hermione grabbed the front of his robes in alarm, pulling him up so that she could see his face. His eyes were rolling back, and for just a moment, Hermione thought she saw a flash of red—but then she heard Harry yell "_Protego!"_ and was blasted back by the force of his spell. She slammed into the wall, Ginny was thrown back, and Ron was already scrambling to his feet and shaking his friend.

"Harry!" Harry's eyes fluttered, and Ron hit him across the face. Harry's eyes opened fully, and he gazed up at his best mate for a moment, not quite seeing. "Look at me!"

Harry's eyes cleared up a moment later, and he stared up at Ron in astonishment.

"He—he found me," he gasped, struggling to sit up.

Hermione pushed herself up, rubbing the back of her head from where it had collided with a desk. She grimaced, but a moment later, concern for herself was shoved aside and replaced with worry for Harry. "How?" she demanded.

"He heard my thoughts," Harry said, rubbing his forehead. "I normally don't stay around when he's being introspective, I forgot that's when I'm supposed to get out, and when he was thinking about taking the Ministry down—I thought of it in terms of 'us', but he thought it in terms of 'them'." He rubbed his scar with his forefinger, and groaned. "He did a double-take so fast, I didn't have time to react."

Ginny had turned white as sheet, and Hermione grasped her hand and helped her to her feet.

"That—but that means you can't do this, ever again," she said shakily. "Now that he knows you were there."

"No kidding," Harry said, before either Ron or Hermione could respond. "He just tried to turn it around on me. I barely managed to throw him out." He looked up at Hermione. "I'm not doing this again. You know I can't—"

"I know." At the lack of resistance, all three of them fell silent. Hermione twisted the ugly old ring around her finger, thinking. "It was good while it lasted. It was good to exploit while he was unaware. But now that he knows you've been there, it would be remiss of me to allow you to try again."

She gazed at Harry in the eye. "Are you sure you got him out?"

"I cut him off," Harry said firmly. "He's not getting back in, not without the mental equivalent of a battering ram."

"Good."

"What about the meeting?" Ron said, finally releasing Harry's robes and letting him sit up. He looked shaky and frightened, but he was putting on an admirably brave face. "It's in two days. If You-Know-Who's going to be there, it's got to be cancelled. Or maybe they should put a trap in place, instead."

"Only if Malfoy got him the book he was looking for," Harry muttered, still rubbing his forehead. Ginny was hugging him tightly, but Harry looked more relieved by it than anything else.

Hermione was chewing on her thumb now, scrounging through her pockets for the object they were using as a Portkey. She handed Harry beat-up, broken Sneakoscope, and Ron and Ginny instantly grabbed hold of it as well.

"I'm going to go inform the Headmaster," she said, straightening. She tapped the Sneakoscope with her wand, and muttered, "_Portus."_ It glowed blue for a moment, and then faded. "In the meantime, you will be returning to the Burrow as arranged."

"And the meeting?" Harry asked, looking apprehensive.

"I'll see what the Headmaster says."

Harry looked like he was about to press further, but then there was a sudden _pop_, and the three of them spun away. They vanished on the spot, and Hermione took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Intentionally or not, Draco Malfoy was at great risk of compromising her plans rather badly.

~o~O~o~

"What do you mean 'the meeting cannot be cancelled'?" Hermione asked testily. She was sitting in the Headmaster's office. Scrimgeour was present, along with Dumbledore, Percy Weasley, and two Aurors that Hermione was unfamiliar with.

"It's nearly impossible to schedule everyone in without conflict, and this has been scheduled for weeks. The Ministry cannot allow terrorists to dictate—" Percy began officiously, but Scrimgeour cut him off.

"I will increase security. There will be added measures," he added, folding his hands in his lap. "But we have no guarantee that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will show up, and if he does, this is the perfect opportunity to set a trap."

Hermione twisted her watch around her wrist, and then her fingers flew to Gaunt's ring instead. "It doesn't work like that. You can't simply arrest the Dark Lord. The Ministry doesn't have the skill or manpower at its disposal to do so—you're crippled by your unwillingness to sink to his level."

She felt rather than saw Dumbledore's gaze level at her, but ignored it. "If he attacks, he will have his followers with him," she saw quietly. "While you're busy trying to Stun and Disarm and generally incapacitate his followers, they will have no qualms about aiming Unforgivables at random. And then there is the Dark Lord himself. You're just begging to be massacred."

"So you're saying I should make the mistakes of my predecessors?" Scrimgeour asked, and there was an edge of hardness to his words that made it impossible for it to come off as polite inquiry.

"Teaching your Aurors to use Unforgivables likely won't help, either," Hermione said bluntly. "Aurors are trained to capture, not kill. That training can't be forgotten in the space of two days. Not to mention," she added, raising her voice ever so slightly to discourage the Minister from trying to interrupt her, "that it takes a certain kind of person to be able to use those curses. I would not encourage it among our law enforcement."

Percy Weasley looked as though he would rather be anywhere but here. Dumbledore was gazing at her with such sharp intensity that she had the impression he was x-raying her, even without Occlumency.

Scrimgeour merely held himself very still.

"So you're saying my Aurors are incapable of dealing with Death Eaters?" he asked quietly. Hermione could sense the offense in his tone. He assumed she was calling them incompetent. The two Aurors in the room took it as such as well, for they visibly bristled.

She wasn't.

"I'm saying they're incapable of dealing with Death Eaters when you throw Voldemort into the mix," she said, using the name without compunction. Both Percy and both of the Aurors jumped. To Scrimgeour's credit, he did not. "His Death Eaters are thugs, and yes, your Aurors _are_ trained and capable of handling them. They're only human, after all."

"Are you saying that You-Know-Who is not?"

Hermione pursed her lips.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Minister," she enunciated clearly. "Not anymore."

Scrimgeour seemed to consider her for a long moment, and then rose to his feet.

"Well," he said at last, looking around the room, "I shall take your input into consideration, but I highly doubt the meeting will be cancelled." He gave her a nod. "You are welcome to exclude yourself if you so wish, though I sincerely hope you will not."

"Oh, I'll be there," Hermione said. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes were glinting with concealed anger. "Don't doubt it, Minister. I just think this is very foolish."

"If he misses attacking this meeting because we adjourned it early, he will not hesitate to attack any other meeting thereafter," Scrimgeour said, signaling to his assistant and accompanying aurors that it was time to leave. "Good day, Madam Snape. Headmaster," he added, giving Dumbledore a curt nod as he left the room.

~o~O~o~

The next day at the Burrow was extremely tense.

Molly knew there was something going on, though Hermione had not said a word, and she was almost certain Dumbledore had not either. But Molly Weasley was a perceptive woman, and she could tell when something was up. But she never asked outright, though Hermione could tell she was searching for some clue as to why Harry, Ginny, and Ron all looked equally worried and depressed.

Hermione barely spoke a word to anyone. She had not seen Severus since yesterday morning, and the only word she had from him was a terse scrawl on the band of their magically linked rings. They hardly ever used it, but they had created it just in case—and now the only thing Hermione knew was that all of the Death Eaters had relocated themselves at Malfoy Manor, and that something big was planned.

Less than five hours after the first message, a second one arrived:

_The Dark Lord knows you have the book._

And then two hours after that, in a scrawl that was so spiky as to be alarming:

_Where is Charlie?_

Charlie? Hermione had not thought about Charlie in ages. He had been returned to the MacFusty Clan in the Hebrides Isles, where they were more than happy to half their half-tamed dragon back. But now Hermione stared blankly at the ring, whose message had already disappeared, and from who is seemed more information was not forthcoming.

Hermione knew he could not be talking about Charlie Weasley, and spent several minutes nervously fretting and pacing in the confines of the living room at Spinner's End. She was uncertain as to what to do. She had already begun withholding information from Dumbledore, though not quite as much as she suspected the old man was keeping from her, and she was not certain she wanted to let the Headmaster in on this bit of information. Yet, she had to find out for sure what had happened to Charlie, and if he was still at the Hebrides Isles.

The answer came to her almost immediately.

"Kreacher," she breathed in realization. She could ask Kreacher to—

There was a loud crack, and Kreacher appeared on the living room carpet. Hermione let out a tiny shriek of surprise.

"How did you get here?" she demanded.

"Mistress Mudblood called," Kreacher responded, giving her a sardonic bow.

"But—but I—we've never given you the Secret to here!"

"Mistress Mudblood called," Kreacher repeated, looking rather annoyed, though whether it was because Hermione was missing some subliminal message he was trying to get across or simply because he wanted her to get on with it, Hermione was not certain.

She straightened and quickly composed herself. She already knew House Elves possessed magical abilities humans didn't have. This must be one of them. She would inspect it more closely at a later date.

"I need a favor," she began.

"Is it for Master Malfoy?" Kreacher said, straightening up and looking eager.

Hermione hesitated. "I—no," she admitted.

Kreacher scowled. "For Master Black?" he asked, his brow furrowing as he went down the scale of priorities.

Hermione inwardly grimaced, but didn't show it.

"For young Master Black?"

It took Hermione a moment to realize that he was talking about Selenius, and shook her head again.

"For young Master Potter?"

"For me," she said, hoping that Kreacher's newfound loyalty stretched that far.

It did. Kreacher's scowl deepened and he looked far less enthusiastic at the prospect, but he gave her a stiff bow. "What does Mistress Mudblood require?"

Hermione took a deep, calming breath. She could do this. If Kreacher was willing to help her, then she could potentially have this under control without ever involving the Headmaster. Or worse, the Ministry.

"There's a Hebridean Dragon by the name of Charlie," Hermione began.

"The beast that stayed with the dirty half—"

"Yes, at Hogwarts," Hermione interrupted quickly, before Kreacher could call Hagrid something potentially awful.

"Is Mistress Mudblood looking for new Dragonhide boots?" Kreacher asked hopefully.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose.

"No, Mistress would like you to visit the MacFusty Clan in the Hebrides Isles and confirm that the dragon is still there," Hermione said firmly. "_Without_ harming said dragon."

Kreacher bowed low.

"Kreacher will do as Mistress Mudblood asks," he croaked, and disappeared with a loud _crack._

* * *

**Please review!**

**~Anubis Ankh**


	33. Chapter 37

**A/N: So here's what happened. I uploaded the document on Monday, and thought everything was fine and dandy until I realized that I never actually posted it. D'oh!**

**I am literally in the last five weeks left of school, and because I'm graduating this year, things are _especially_ hectic. Therefore, please be understanding (as you always are!) and a bit patient, because my schedule is all over the place, and I'm barely keeping my head on straight. Thanks!**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own!**

**Please review!**

* * *

Harry knew that they were still going to the meeting. There was no stopping it at this stage, and he was determined to go. It wasn't out of some sense of pride or mulishness, but more along the lines of the idea that this was his best opportunity to face Voldemort head-on and on his own terms. He spent several hours in the darkness of night lying in bed and gazing at the ceiling, thinking it through. If Voldemort was there to kill him, that meant Nagini would probably there as well. It was the only opportunity Harry was sure of that would allow him to take out that final Horcrux.

And if they were wrong—if Voldemort didn't show up—then at the very least, Harry decided it would be a day spent getting a better grasp on what the Ministry planned to do about him. And possibly Harry himself, since everyone was so utterly convinced that he was the Chosen One.

He'd have his invisibility cloak and a couple of Fred and George's joke items on him, just in case. He mentally snorted at the thought of taking down Lord Voldemort with Weasley's Wizard Wheezes' products, but they were very useful, and he needed anything that might help him. The thought of what might happen tomorrow made his heart race with fear and excitement, and his blood turned to ice with dread, but he was dead set on finishing it now.

The fact that Hermione seemed to have a plan in mind also calmed his frayed nerves. The fact that she had not yet given him the ring—or might never, even—worried him, because Dumbledore had indicated it was important. For all that Harry was hiding Hermione's activities from the Headmaster, he knew Dumbledore had a plan in mind, and was certain that he knew something that Hermione was overlooking. He tried to fall asleep, knowing that staying up worrying wouldn't help him tomorrow, but he finally gave in and sat up in bed. Ron was snoring on the other side of the room, and Harry quietly slipped his socks on and went downstairs.

He was surprised to find the fireplace still a-glow with dying embers, and even more surprised to find Hermione sitting in Mr. Weasley's chair, lost in thought. She jerked up when she saw him appear, and Harry hadn't missed the look of instinctive fear and alertness in her eyes before she masked it.

"You should be in bed," she said wearily.

"Couldn't sleep," Harry said, suppressing a yawn. "What are you still up for?"

"No reason," she said unconvincingly.

Harry gazed at her. "Something's up, isn't it?"

A muted _crack_ was his response as Kreacher appeared in the room, causing Harry to jump.

"Mistress Mudblood requested to know about the dragon's whereabouts," Kreacher said, bowing low. "Kreacher has come to tell Mistress Mudblood that the dragon is not at the Hebrides Isles. It has been relocated to Malfoy Manor."

Harry's jaw dropped as he realized exactly who Kreacher was talking about. Hermione sat up a bit straighter in her chair.

"Are you sure?"

"Kreacher is certain," the house-elf replied, looking insulted at the mere suggestion he had not done his job correctly.

"Where in Malfoy Manor?" Hermione demanded, getting to her feet. "What are they doing with him?"

"They have the beast chained in the wine cellar," Kreacher croaked. "They is doing nothing to him but keeping him there."

Hermione frowned. "Is there anyone else down there?"

"They is keeping the dragon chained at one end, and is brewing on the other," Kreacher said. "Mistress Mudblood's husband is still working there, reading from the book Master Malfoy brought with him."

Harry turned to look at Hermione, who was wearing a terrifying expression that he couldn't quite quantify.

"Why do they have Charlie?" he demanded.

Hermione shook her head; clearly, she did not know, or would not say. She slowly sat back in her chair, and Harry could see she was weighing the situation carefully. At last she said, "Thank you, Kreacher. You may go."

Kreacher bowed low, and then disappeared with a noisy _crack._

"You should go to bed, Harry," Hermione said, and she sounded very tired. "Tomorrow will be a busy day, to say nothing else."

He turned to leave, when Hermione stopped him.

"Wait." He watched as she slowly slid off Gaunt's ring, and he felt his heart skip a beat at the thought that she might really give it to him. He watched her tap it once with her wand, and there was a shimmer of air as a double appeared. She handed one to him, which he thought was the real one, but was not certain.

"You said the Dark Lord wanted something from me." She slid the ring back onto her finger. "I believe this is what he was referring to."

"Why does he want it?" Harry blurted out, turning the ring over in his palm. "He doesn't understand its true value."

"No, he doesn't," Hermione agreed, slowly rising to her feet. "But he still wants it back."

"Why are you giving it to me?" Harry asked, tucking the ring into his left pajama pocket.

To his surprise, Hermione took a long time to respond. He saw her gaze turn to the dying embers and take on a far-away look before she finally snapped back to look at him.

"It doesn't matter," she said at last. "But take it knowing that I trust you not to abuse it."

Harry understood exactly what she was saying.

"I won't," he promised.

Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze, and then she disappeared up the stairs. Harry followed, returning to his room to find Ron still snoring. When he climbed back into bed, he did indeed feel a bit more at ease, but his anxiety still remained.

He comforted himself with the notion that at the very least, he knew his best friend from ages ago still had faith in him.

~o~O~o~

The next day was a busy affair. He was awoken at an unaccustomed and early hour, since the meeting was scheduled for that morning, and came down the stairs to the smell of bacon and eggs.

"You can't go to the Ministry looking like that!" Mrs. Weasley declared, taking in his messy hair and disheveled shirt and jeans.

"This isn't like my trial," Harry said, taking a seat. Ron plopped down in the seat beside him with a yawn. "They're not going to throw me into Azkaban for not wearing a tie. They just want the Chosen One's opinion on something I have absolutely no qualifications to give an opinion on."

That did nothing to stop Mrs. Weasley from letting out of a huff of exasperation and attacking his hair with a wet comb, and Harry resigned himself to her attempts to fix his hair as he helped himself to several slices of bacon. He went upstairs to put on something more presentable, and while digging through his socks, discovered one that was lumpy and hard. He stuck his hand into it, and pulled out the bottle of Felix Felicis that Slughorn had given him. He'd almost forgotten that he had put it there. He hesitated, and then tore the seal off and uncorked it, allowing himself a tiny sip before corking it again. He smacked his lips at the taste, and then put it back before he could be tempted to take more. His nerves were frayed and jittery, but within moments, the potion had calmed him with its almost serendipitous guidance.

They left shortly after, and Harry was still yawning as Mr. Weasley Flooed them into the Ministry. He was surprised to find Hermione already there, standing beside the restored Fountain of Magical Brethren in quiet discussion with Scrimgeour and Proudfoot. Proudfoot looked worried; Scrimgeour was tense. Hermione's expression was as carefully blank as ever. Dumbledore was at Hermione's side, but he seemed more intent on listening to the grave contents of the conversation rather than voicing his own opinion.

"So what is this?" Ron asked, as he finished off a bite of toast. "We're not having the meeting out here, are we?"

"Doubtful," Harry said, as Mr. Weasley herded them both toward the fountain. Witches and wizards alike stopped to glance over at their slightly bedraggled group, but Harry was used to this by now. The last few times he had popped into the Ministry, plenty of people had stopped to get a good look. A few had even shook his hand or asked for his autograph. It made Harry nothing short of uncomfortable, and he wished they would simply get on with it.

"Well, the Minister's office is too small, you can hardly fit more than five people in there," Ron said.

"They'll probably use one of the courtrooms," Mr. Weasley said, just loud enough for them to hear. "They like to use them for this sort of thing, especially since the rest of the Wizengamot will be there as well."

"Wait," Harry said, drawing to a sudden halt. "The entire Wizengamot? Like they were at my trial?"

"They're all elected councilmen who have a voice on what the Ministry does," Mr. Weasley said tightly, but Harry sensed he understood where his underlying fear was coming from. He gave Harry a faint smile. "Don't worry. They can't force you to do anything. You're merely there as a guest consultant."

Harry was relieved when Hermione and the Minister finally broke away to join the other witches and wizards in plum-colored robes, each bearing an embroidered silver _W._ It might have seemed like an ordinary day if it were not for the fact that everyone seemed to know exactly what was going on. It was in their eyes, the way they raked over the Wizengamot members as they passed, and the way they whispered to each other. Harry had the sense that for once, he wasn't the source of curiosity, and was exceptionally relieved.

"It's not usually like this," Mr. Weasley explained to them as they made their way past the lift, trying to move through the throng without drawing too much attention to themselves. "But this is an important meeting that could change everything. Naturally, everyone's got a stake in it one way or another."

They made it to the courtroom, and Harry was glad when Mr. Weasley followed him inside this time. He was doubly thankful when he was herded to a seat just below where Hermione and Dumbledore were, and when both Weasleys sat next to him. Mr. Weasley would be here for this. Aside from having Ron here with him, it was the second most comforting thing Harry could have asked for. Hermione would have been second on his list were it not for the fact that she was sitting just three rows away from Dumbledore, and Harry was somewhat nervous about the prospect of them being in such close proximity. The idea of these two very brilliant people with exceedingly different plans was a frightening one. Harry suspected the Ministry didn't know what it was getting into.

He looked around. This courtroom was nothing like Courtroom Ten: the ceiling gave way to a great glass ceiling through which Harry could see clouds passing by, if he craned his head. The room was alright with the glow of torches, but was exceptionally well lit by the bright—if blustery—late-March weather. This was a far more comfortable room to convene on political matters than the dungeon-like levels below.

Scrimgeour had taken his seat, and after a moment of calmly surveying the room, reached for the gavel and banged it twice. The sound echoed like a gunshot, quieting the room within moments. Harry saw Percy Weasley sitting a few feet away, a bit of ink already on his nose from where he was furiously scribbling. There were flutters of parchment and robes as the members of the Wizengamot settled down. Harry glanced around the room, and saw a few vaguely familiar faces that he had never actually spoken to, but recognized them to be the heads of various Ministry departments.

"The purpose of today's convention will be to decide whether the Ministry will change its tactics in dealing with the threat posed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and if so, what those changes will be…"

He felt rather than heard Hermione shift behind him, and then her voice was whispering into his ear: "Remember what I told you earlier, Harry."

"About Voldemort getting too powerful for the Ministry to handle?" Harry whispered in an undertone.

"Yes. And most of them know it."

"And the ones that don't?" Harry asked, wishing Hermione had explained this to him beforehand.

"Last time around, everyone was terrified of the Dark Lord. This time, that terror has been tempered by the Ministry's ability to maintain some stability. That success has led to arrogance."

"We ought to take a more offensive approach," one wizard could be heard saying. Harry's head swiveled around, trying to find the speaker. "Frankly, I don't see the point of capturing Death Eaters if they're going to Azkaban only to be broken out again. I recommend a motion that we execute the Dark Lord's followers—following a fair trial, of course…"

"That's right," another agreed. "The problem is that You-Know-Who's followers keep going back to him."

Harry glanced up at Hermione and then Dumbledore, trying to read their expressions. Dumbledore was sitting calmly and attentively, nodding his head ever so slightly as though to suggest he was listening, though Harry could detect the faintest trace of a frown behind his beard. Hermione was leaning forward in her seat, but her face betrayed nothing. Harry glanced over at Mr. Weasley, who was wearing an expression of deep concern. He wished they could discuss this among themselves privately; he wasn't sure what to make of this motion. It sounded right, but felt wrong.

"Absolutely not," Harry heard another insist. "We made a serious mistake with Sirius Black's trial, and there are a notable number of pardoned Death Eaters who have not returned to the Dark Side. It would be remiss of us to execute upon declaring guilt."

Now Harry wished he had not come. His stomach churned at the memory of how close his godfather had come to being Kissed. He wondered when he was supposed to speak up, or whether he was supposed to say anything at all.

"If you have a better solution, Madam, I would be delighted to hear it," was the biting rejoinder.

Harry was surprised when he heard Hermione get to her feet, and twisted around to look at her.

"Seal them away."

"I beg your pardon?" A snooty-nosed wizard three rows away from them demanded.

"Find another way to lock them up. There's more to magic than just waving a wand," Hermione replied stoically. "Transfigure, or perhaps Transmute them into another object. Once the war's over, you can decide what to do with them."

"It _would_ be a very effective way to remove them without killing them…" Kingsley Shacklebolt's deep voice soothed over the room. "It wouldn't interrupt our justice system. I quite like it."

"All it takes is an expert Alchemist or an experienced Transfiguration master," Hermione continued coolly, but there was a slight quirk to her lips, as though she appreciate Shacklebolt's intervention. "It can be simplified down to a ritual, and requires minimal upkeep. You could lock them in a vault for fifty years and then change them back, and they wouldn't age a day."

"Weasley, have you got that down?" Scrimgeour asked, barely glancing at Percy.

"Yes sir," Percy said, his quill flying across the page.

"Very well. We will set the idea aside for later consideration."

"I still think we should execute them," the wizard who had originally suggested the idea called out. "There's a good chance that it could backfire on us. No one wants to hear that the Ministry mangles its prisoners through botched spells."

"Your contribution is noted," Scrimgeour said coolly.

"As opposed to hearing that you executed the wrong man?" Harry interjected.

There was a moment of tense silence. For a moment, Harry thought Scrimgeour might admonish him for speaking out of turn, but instead got the impression that the Minister was merely scrutinizing him very closely. And then—

"I disagree with execution, but we do need a more offensive approach," an elderly wizard Harry recognized as Tiberius Ogden spoke up. "We're at a stalemate now, but he _is_ gaining in strength."

"I don't know how you plan to go on the offensive more than you already are," Harry responded evenly, emboldened by the lack of chastisement from his previous interjection. "And it's not Voldemort's—" the entire room flinched "—Death Eaters that's the problem, is it? You can handle them. It's Voldemort himself, especially since he's the one who keeps breaking them out. You managed to keep them locked up for over a dozen years once he was gone, so they're clearly not the problem."

"And yet, we are still at a loss as to how to kill him," Madam Marchbanks said, her aged voice more of a murmur than anything else, but it was heard by all. "Have you any ideas, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Well then," the snooty-nosed wizard said, looking rather satisfied at Harry's lack of answers, "If the Boy-Who-Lived doesn't know how to defeat him, who does?"

Ron made an ugly face at the wizard, but said nothing. Harry glanced up again. This time, Hermione's elbows were braced on her knees, her mouth pressed against interlaced hands. She looked both patient and eager, but seemed to be deliberately gagging herself by biting down on one of her knuckles. Dumbledore looked unruffled, and was even smiling slightly, as though he found the entire meeting politely amusing.

More ideas were thrown about from every corner of the room, from the loftiest seats to the lower rows. There were statements made, most prominently by Department Heads, about matters that Harry couldn't even wrap his mind around. It was very tempting to succumb to boredom after a time, but he struggled to remain attentive. Dumbledore was well-respected, and he spoke often, his words having a calming effect on arguments that exceeded their usefulness. But it was not until Harry himself came up as a subject that Hermione spoke up again.

"He's the Chosen One, is he not?" demanded an elderly Warlock whose name Harry was unfamiliar with. "Why don't we use him?"

"Because Harry or—as you call him, the 'Chosen One'—isn't a tool to be used," Hermione said icily.

"We could set a trap," one of them persisted. "You-Know-Who has attempted to kill him multiple times over the last few years—we could ambush him then. Give Potter a chance to kill him once and for all."

Hermione scoffed—outright scoffed—in his face, and let out a snort of laughter that quite startled the room.

"Madam Snape, if I may enquire as to what you find so amusing," Scrimgeour asked tightly.

"The Ministry doesn't change," Hermione said, and though she was smiling, there was a cold edge to it. Her shoulders were shaking in silent laughter, but it wasn't friendly. "You think you can conquer problems with more decrees, more edicts, more motions. You research the laws of magic in the Department of Mysteries, but you understand so little—and respect even less—that there are some aspects of magic that can't be controlled." She jabbed a finger in Harry's direction. "You can't simply throw Harry at Voldemort," she said, clearly enunciating the name for the room to flinch at, "and expect him to get the job done."

"You tell them, Hermione," Harry heard Ron mutter under his breath.

"The Dark Lord chose him. He is destined—"

"He is destined, but you don't get to determine when that is." Hermione waved a hand around at the room. "No one could have predicted that Harry would stop the Dark Lord the first time around when he was just a baby—and yet, it happened. Let that be a gratuitous example of just how little control you have over abstractions such as _destiny._"

The wizard opened his mouth to speak, but a loud, reverberating crash drowned out whatever it was he was prepared to say.

"What was that?" Scrimgeour demanded.

"It's from the Atrium!" one of the Aurors guarding the door called, peering down the hall with his wand out. "There's been a commotion!"

Scrimgeour did not even attempt to command calm; he was out of his seat in a flash, though not before Hermione had leapt out of hers, jumping over several seats below to make it for the door. Harry followed close behind, and from the shouting that was overtaking the courtroom, it sounded as though quite a few of the more able members were determined to follow.

Hermione did not tell him to stay behind, when he caught up to her. She skidded to a stop at the end of the corridor, taking in the vision of destruction that awaited them.

The ceiling had been smashed in. Stone and glass debris was still falling to the ground with dull clunks, occasionally bouncing off the wings of a very large and very angry Hebridean Black that Harry was all too familiar with. He had been fitted with a bridle of some sort, though it did nothing to hinder his ability to spew flames at the shocked and terrified witches and wizards who had not made it out of the way in time. The reason for this sartorial addition was astonishingly clear: he had a rider. And it wasn't Voldemort. The wild, black tangle of Bellatrix Lestrange hailed her identity even from behind her silver death-mask.

Instantly, Harry knew to duck just as Charlie's head whipped around and his maw opened in preparation to spew flame. But Hermione didn't duck; she flicked her wand, and a shield rose up, covering the corridor and protecting those behind her from getting caught in the inferno. Harry held his hands up, trying to block the bright light of the flame.

There was a responding snarl, and Harry blinked as he saw the nearest pocket of Hermione's robes wriggle; and then her shield broke, and they all scattered for cover. Harry dodged behind a chunk of debris twice his height, peering over the top to get a good look at Charlie.

So. Voldemort hadn't come. But he had attacked nonetheless. Harry supposed he had decided to delegate the task of terrorizing the Ministry to his most faithful follower. Clearly, there were some days when a Dark Lord couldn't be arsed to do the job himself.

"_Crucio!"_ he heard Bellatrix cry gleefully. _"Avada—"_

Without waiting for her to finish her spell, which was aimed at the twitching body of a man who had been caught under a chunk of broken ceiling, Harry shoved his hands into his pocket and pulled out the can of Peruvian Darkness Powder from Fred and George's shop, and without a second thought to reconsider his actions, threw it with all the strength and accuracy years of Quidditch had given him.

"—_Kedavra—aieee!"_

A jet of green light shot out of the unfurling cloud of thick inky blackness, but it struck the ceiling at an angle, sparing her intended target. Bellatrix let out a loud curse, followed by a stream of violent invectives interrupted only by Charlie's panicked roar. Harry quickly slipped out from behind his hiding place, somehow just _knowing_ that with Felix Felicis in his blood, he would get through this foolhardy endeavor alive. A hasty mutter, and the debris lifted off the man; and then Harry grabbed him by the shoulders, and dragged him back toward the safety of the corridor.

"_Accio!"_ The man's body was suddenly dragged forcefully out of Harry's arms, and he saw Ron standing at the mouth of the corridor, face ashen white but set. The man's weight almost knocked him over as he caught him, and Harry wheeled around in time to avoid Charlie's tail from sweeping his feet out from beneath him.

"Charlie!" He shouted, trying to catch the blinded dragon's attention. "Charlie, it's me!" He dodged another swipe. "Stop this!"

There was another earth-shattering roar, and then a burst of flame exploded from within; Harry was thrown backwards, narrowly avoiding the worst of the blast at the last moment, and landed on a piece of jagged stone with a thud that knocked the wind out of him. Harry was very surprised to find that, when the darkness powder had been incinerated, Bellatrix was still sitting atop him entirely unruffled. She glnaced down her nose at Harry from a great height, and Harry had the sense that she was deliberately keeping composure.

She had her wand pointed at him.

"Where's the book?"

There was a soft, rumbling snarl from behind him, but Harry didn't dare glance around to see what it was.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he lied.

"Still a poor liar, Potter," Bellatrix said coldly. "And here I'd been told your Occlumency had improved! I'll not ask a third time—where is the book? _Convulsions of Nature?"_

Harry swallowed and opened his mouth to speak, but was saved from answering by Hermione.

"There was no need for such theatrics, Bellatrix."

Bellatrix's gaze snapped from Harry to Hermione, and there was a flash of something eager and predatory in her gaze. And to Harry's surprise, which accompanied a sinking feeling in his gut, Hermione wore a similar expression; it made her look ever so slightly mad. But then it was gone from the latter; Bellatrix still seemed like she might strike at any moment with antsy impatience, and Hermione appeared impracticably calm. And then Harry realized what was wrong.

Dumbledore—where was Dumbledore?

And as though she had read his mind, Hermione answered, though rather indirectly.

"Very clever, to crash the Ministry in two places." Her hand shifted to her left pocket, though her wand was still held firmly in the right. "How many death eaters did you bring? Ten? Twelve?"

"Thirteen," Bellatrix breathed. "Including me."

Charlie's head whipped around with a wild snort that shot flame, and then let out a serpentine hiss of pain as the iron chains of the bridle glowed bright red; he quieted a moment later, though his eyes blinked a thousand words, slow and dark and still incomprensible to Harry. And then Harry saw something red and scaly coiling out of Hermione's pocket, wrapping around her arm and slowly lifting itself out. Smoke trailed out of her pocket. And the only thing he could think of—the only thing that made sense, and which Felix assured him was more than just a lucky guess—was that she had a dragon in there.

"I knew you were after the book the minute Draco failed in his clumsy attempt to steal it," Hermione said quietly. And then Harry saw the cover of the book, and then the flipping pages, and something dark and beady-eyed gazing out from between the snow-white parchment bound within. "Naturally, I've carried it around with me ever since. I suppose it was a futile hope that it would discourage you."

Harry wondered why Hermione wasn't attacking. She had Bellatrix's attention focused solely on the slowly unraveling book, and her spells would hardly bother Charlie any more than the touch of a fly. And then he saw the black chains digging tightly into her sides, blending into her robes, and he came to the realization: against all odds, somehow, Bellatrix had gotten the drop on her.

"There are many things that the Dark Lord wants," Bellatrix said, and there was a mocking coo to her voice. "You are hardly the foremost thing standing in his way. _Accio book!_"

The book sailed out of Hermione's pocket, its claws, tail, and tongue writhing in the air to try and find some sort of foothold; it snapped into the Death Eater's hands with a smack of finality.

"And now—"

The book, which was already agitated enough, suddenly stopped moving; instead, it began to glow red, and Bellatrix dropped it with a shriek of surprise—and pain—as it burned. For a moment, Harry thought that was the extent of its self-defense, but then ink exploded off the pages in long, black strands that wrapped around all within reach. It pinned the death eater in place on Charlie's back, it snapped a coil around Hermione's waist and wrist, and a long tendril appeared around Harry's neck and began dragging him forward with a strangled grunt.

"What's happening?" Bellatrix shrieked. "What is it doing?!"

Harry saw Hermione's eyes widened, and her mouth opened and shut inaudibly; she was speechless. The book was now wrapping itself around Charlie's body, and the black ink was slowly turning gold. Lines were being drawn along Charlie's black scales, lines that Harry could only vaguely make out as being similar to the ones he had seen on Hermione's chalkboards—runes and circles that meant absolutely nothing to him, but clearly meant a great deal to the book. It was using Charlie as a canvas, though what it was trying to accomplish, Harry didn't know.

And then the dragon's entire body began to glow; a backlash of magic that caused the coil around his neck to disappear and for him to be thrown back, and another scream—this time of rage and fear—from Bellatrix as she, too, was released from the book's hold. His glasses flew off. And then the spots in Harry's vision cleared, and he squinted as he took in the sight before him.

Charlie was gone. So was the book. In their place was an enormous dragon with blood-red scales and gold accents. It was Charlie's size, and for all intents and purposes, it looked like Charlie had been done over in Gryffindor colors—but when the dragon's head slowly turned to look at him, Harry instantly knew it was not Charlie. It was not his dragon, the playful and mischievously dangerous creature that had been his Care of Magical Creatures project. _Convulsions of Nature_ had created for itself a new body, against all odds, and given itself a new life. It was unlike any other dragon Harry had seen—it was clearly more than a primitive or even half-trained beast, but a creature wise beyond comprehension.

Hermione lay on the ground, unmoving; for a moment Harry thought she might be in shock. And then she slowly pushed herself up, and turned around to look. The dragon's face was less than a foot away from hers, and even Bellatrix seemed to be frozen in awe at the sight of those two—the dragon bearing down upon the witch who had kept it and cared for it in book-forme for so many years, the witch gazing back at him without a trace of fear on her face. And then a fissure in its head opened, revealing a third beady black eye; it blinked at her, very slowly. Hermione's face could be seen reflected in it, awed but unafraid. And determined.

She reached out a trembling hand, and placed it on the tip of the dragon's fearsome nose. Black seeped out from beneath its scales, and morphed into gold as it wrapped around her wrist. Gold ink now ran across its scales, a dense and incomprehensible scrawl of runes and lines that slithered to the floor and ran outwards before closing off into a circle, trapping all three of them—Hermione, the Book, and Bellatrix—inside.

"What is it? What is it _doing?_" Bellatrix shrieked, as the ink began to twine itself more thoroughly around her body, trapping her in place.

Hermione slowly turned to look at her, and Harry was shocked to see that her eyes were the same shade of oblique black as the dragon.

"_I thank you for this opportunity_," she said, eyes glittering with cruel amusement that was tinged with fury. "_I shall endeavor to make the most of it._"

And the final piece sunk in. Somehow, Harry understood exactly what the book-turned-dragon was doing. Hermione had described her ritual to him, something to separate the Dark Lord's fractured soul from his. The lines created by the dragon's golden font of ink bore such a resemblance that he could only assume it was a similar—if not identical—ritual it was setting up to perform. The only last piece it needed… was himself.

He was on his feet before he knew it, Felix Felicis driving him forward as he put himself between the dragon and Hermione. Coils circled around at his feet, but did not latch on. The dragon reared its head, and its scarlet tail lashed from side to side as more ink poured out of the sides of its mouth, pooling on the ground.

The sudden flash of green light that surrounded Bellatrix's struggling form and the dragon's maw startled Harry so badly that he almost jerked himself free of the circle; and then he saw her slump, and the lines began to glow with energy that he had only scant moments to appreciate before his vision was roughly yanked from him. He felt his feet give way from underneath him, and he was having difficulty breathing; it felt like something was coiling inside him, grabbing onto him and tearing him in half. He let out a scream, though whether it was all in his head, he could not be certain.

And then his eyes flew open, and he was lying on the ground, gasping for breath. He lifted up his head, and realized his nose had broken in the fall; he wiped the blood off his sleeve, panting as he tried to make sense of what happened. He felt no different, save for the fact that some deep, unreachable part of his chest was in pain. And then a long, red tail whipped into view, and he gazed at it dumbly for a moment before deciding to reach out and grab it. It lifted him up, and he staggered to his feet, dizzy and breathless and trying to make sense of a world that was blurry and unfocused.

And then his glasses were generously slid back onto his face for him, and his vision cleared enough to realize the dragon had picked it up with its long, serpentine tongue. Something rolled out from the side and spun around a few times before falling still, and he realized it was Gaunt's Ring. The tongue flickered over his nose, and the dragon flicked off a trail of blood with it, as though testing the taste. And then it dipped down, sliding its thin tongue through the ring, and Harry gazed unseeingly as it swallowed the ancient and thoroughly-ruined heirloom. And then it raised its enormous wings, and with a gust of wind and a triumphant roar, thrust itself upwards into the air. Harry felt his knees give way, and felt hands appear on his shoulder to keep him upright as he watched the revived and legendary creature disappear through the broken ceiling. It was done with them. Things had gone so far afield from what they had even dreamed might happen that day, but it was finally over.

"Harry—Harry!"

"I—I'm fine," Harry responded thickly, as Ron urged him to his feet. He spat out a bit of blood that had trickled into his mouth, and reached for his wand to repair his nose. He staggered, and then bent down to pick up Gaunt's Ring, pocketing it before it could get lost in the debris. "Where's Hermione?"

"Over there." Ron turned Harry around, and he saw her lying where the dragon had left her. He knew she wasn't dead. Panic and fear hadn't settled in yet, and his potion was reassuring him that all the signs pointed to her still being alive and merely out cold. "That was… I don't even know what that was."

"I didn't see everything that happened," Harry said, as he came to kneel beside his bushy-haired friend.

"The dragon killed Bellatrix. Ate her, too," Ron said, gesturing at the spot where Harry had last seen her. "And I think—I think he possessed Hermione, her eyes weren't looking right at the end."

"That's what it looked like," Harry said shortly, as he grabbed Hermione's arm and hooked it over his shoulder. Ron came around to do the same on the other side, and they hauled her up. He wasn't ready to tell Ron that he thought the dragon might have ripped the piece of Voldemort's soul out of him. Part of him felt like someone had removed a leech off his body by forcefully tearing it off and leaving ripped and torn skin behind. He felt unwell, though not as though he might never heal.

As they dragged Hermione's unconscious form back to the corridor, where several people were receiving medical attention and already coming out to peer around nervously and survey the damage done, Ron remarked:

"That _was_ a bloody terrifying book."

~o~O~o~

"I don't know what to make of it," Hermione whispered, after they had made it back to the Burrow. Scrimgeour had wanted to send her to St. Mungo's, but she had adamantly refused, and he had more important things to attend to than argue with a stubborn retainer. He was one of the few people who had witnessed what happened in full, though Harry was immensely grateful that he'd had the common sense to not interfere when it became clear that the events unfolding were beyond normal comprehension.

The man Harry and Ron had saved survived, though the courtroom—which had been crashed in nearly five minutes after the atrium, and by a dozen Death Eaters—had left behind more bodies than people wanted to count. The Ministry, which had suspected Voldemort might attack, had been utterly unprepared for something of this magnitude. They had anticipated the Dark Lord himself, but not a dragon who, by virtue of being resistant to magic, was able to ignore their wards and protections and simply barrel its way in. The other Death Eaters had capitalized upon the opening to get to the courtroom they had all been assembled in earlier.

"I knew the book was alive, but I'd never thought…" she trailed off for a moment, and then resumed her line of thought. "It never occurred to me that given close… proximity… to another dragon, it might take that dragon over. As a host."

"So the book was a horcrux for a dragon?" Ron asked impatiently.

"No. The book was whole," Hermione muttered. Her eyes were closed and she was resting on one of the beds upstairs, but that was hardly enough to induce her mind into taking a rest. "It was a whole dragon—mind and soul—bound in another object. All it needed was a body." She gave it a moment's consideration. "It was probably one of Herpo the Foul's lesser-known earlier experiments. Before he became infamous for creating the first known horcux."

"That was not a normal dragon," Harry said. He was sitting forward in his chair, hands crossed and nibbling on some bacon slices. His nose had been repaired and pronounced fixed, and was probably the worst of his physical injuries. "Charlie's the most intelligent dragon I've ever encountered, but he certainly couldn't manipulate magic like that. Not in a hundred years."

"Magical creatures have long appeared in fairy-tales to guide and challenge wizards and witches," Hermione murmured. "Some become… unusually powerful when exposed to unusual circumstances."

"Like being turned into a book, you mean?" Ron joked lightly.

"The dragon's identity was reduced to mere knowledge and memories," Hermione said quietly. "The usual inhibitions of instincts and desires probably faded over the centuries, leaving behind an extremely cunning and intelligent creature."

"And what, this medieval git tracked them down and shoved their souls into books?" Ron scoffed.

"That's what he told me," Hermione answered quietly.

Neither of them needed to ask how or why. They already knew that the dragon had taken over her body, if only for a short while—and not only that, but that Hermione had willingly allowed it. The dragon had paid a price for her cooperation: a shared consciousness meant shared knowledge.

"So now that this book's gone and gotten itself a new body, Voldemort's going to try and find one of the others, right?" Ron asked.

"It's a possibility," Hermione said, sounding very tired at the prospect. "But I haven't any idea where they are, and I doubt he does either. This book was within his grasp because he knew where it was. The others…" she trailed off.

"I get why it ate Bellatrix," Harry said. "You said it killed her to trigger the ritual. The ritual absorbed her life-force to power itself up, and he wasn't going to waste a perfectly good meal. But why didn't he eat you?"

Hermione didn't respond for a long moment, and Harry almost thought she had fallen asleep. Her face looked rather worn, not by age, but from a lifetime of hard fighting. And then her eyes slowly opened, chocolate brown and thoughtful.

"The book used her to activate the ritual," she said finally, not answering the question Harry had just asked. "But I had the Philosopher's Stone stored inside Charlie, and it's probably been reduced to dust by now. I have little doubt that a transformation of that magnitude would deplete it." A pause, and then she addressed Harry's query:

"I had that book for almost a decade," she said quietly, though there was a hint of self-deprecating smile about her lips. "And you know me. I take very good care of my books."

And then her eyes closed.

"Do one more thing for me, Harry…"

"What?"

There was a moment's pause.

"Can you feel the Dark Lord?" Hermione whispered. "Is the link still there?"

There was a pause as Harry did a moment of soul-searching. Yes, the edges felt frayed and torn, but they would close up. The part of him that had always felt heavy and dark was missing. It was with relief that he was finally able to reply with a firm and final, "No."

Hermione smiled.

"Not as neat and clean as I wanted it to be, but I shan't look a gift dragon in the mouth," she said, sounding rather satisfied.

* * *

**Please review!**

**-Anubis Ankh**


	34. Chapter 38

**A/N: I had my last class today. Exams are next week. After that, I have to turn in my computer to the school. I'm posting this chapter now, and it may be another two or three weeks before I have everything set up to continue posting. Sorry...**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

**Please review!**

* * *

The next day, Hermione left the Burrow before any of them awoke. When Harry went down for breakfast, he was told by a still-shaken Mrs. Weasley that Hermione's husband had stopped by at the early hours the morning to take her home. Molly had chewed Harry and Ron out thoroughly for not telling her that they had expected an attack on the Ministry, and had then dissolved into tears in the midst of demanding to know what they thought they were doing in attempting to answer the predicted attack. Mr. Weasley had made it out of the chaos very nearly unscathed save for a few scratches and broken glasses, and had been present when the Death Eaters were identified.

"Most of them got away," He told Bill, when his eldest son came to visit the next day. "They never intended to stay for long, I don't think. It was just a distraction after the initial attack."

"How did they get through the wards?" Bill asked. "You can't just crash into the Ministry without doing some serious curse-breaking."

"Hermione reckons it's because of Charlie," Ron said, taking a seat at the breakfast table. "Dragons are immune to most of our magic, and they can get through Wizarding wards like it's nothing. That's probably why they had him attack first, to create an opening for the diversion."

"And where's Charlie now?"

Harry and Ron exchanged looks at this, and shook their heads. Aside from having no answer, they also had more pressing matters on their minds. Harry wanted to have a talk with Dumbledore as soon as possible about the ritual the dragon had performed, and the loss of Gaunt's Ring. The dragon had eaten it. It was gone. There was no getting it back. This, Harry reflected, was probably for the best—but Dumbledore still needed to know.

He also wished Hermione hadn't left.

~o~O~o~

"Draco told the Dark Lord that you had possession of the book to save his own skin," Severus said, as Hermione settled herself in an armchair by the fire. They were at their quarters at Hogwarts, where She had slept most of the day away, and was finally awake again. "I believe he thought that this would cause the Dark Lord to send me to retrieve it, not for the Dark Lord to send a half-tamed dragon crashing into the Ministry."

"Draco shouldn't have tried to predict the Dark Lord's moves, but I honestly can't blame him," Hermione muttered, rubbing her forehead. "Draco _is_ a Slytherin with a good sense of self-preservation. I agree, though, I honestly don't think he intended for the Dark Lord to respond by violently targeting me."

"That must have been some dreadful naivete on his part."

"He believes you're a Death Eater. I'm certain he thought that the Dark Lord would send you to retrieve the book—a surprisingly good plan, given you're an expert on dark objects and he had no success in kidnapping the book himself." Hermione gave him a wry smile. "I suspect he wanted to send the right man in for the job."

"He had a half-baked plan that was contingent upon a homicidal megalomaniac being predictable," Severus sniped. "And furthermore, it compromised my position. My only saving grace is that I could honestly tell the Dark Lord that I didn't know he was searching for the book."

Hermione grimaced. "Did he punish you? You never said."

"Most of the punishment went to the dozen who accompanied Bellatrix." Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. "Now he's searching for Charlie. He wants his dragon back."

"Charlie's gone, Severus," Hermione said heavily. "So is the book."

"I'd heard as much, though I still fail to see how one has to do with the other."

Hermione took a moment to consider how best to explain, and then gave him a compressed run-down of the events that led up to the book-bound dragon within _Convulsions of Nature_ resurrecting itself.

"I… I have never…" Severus muttered, now reaching distractedly for the cabinet that held their dwindling supply of alcohol. His fingers found the glasses, and a bottle. "I couldn't have even conceived of such a thing…"

"It's for the best," Hermione said half-heartedly. "There's no getting the book back." She also didn't want to add that she was fairly certain there was no getting the Philosopher's Stone back—the Death Eaters hadn't known it was still in Charlie's belly, and the dragon hadn't been kind enough to return it to them before his departure. It was gone, along with Gaunt's Ring. "And I doubt the dragon will be half as cooperative as Charlie was. My only regret is that its years of saved investments up in smoke—I paid Borgin an arm and a leg for that book."

Severus snorted. She had indeed placed a large portion of money in the Muggle stockmarket, which had resulted in steadily-growing wealth over the years due to her foreknowledge of which companies would be most successful. There was no other way they could have ever paid for the book, he reflected. They were well off for it, but it didn't lessen the loss.

"It's a small price to pay," he reminded her, now pouring himself a glass. She motioned at the second glass, and he poured her a shot as well before watching the glass silently float into her hands. "The alternative would have been the Dark Lord getting his hands on _Convulsions of Nature _much sooner. What you were able to do with that book was one thing—but his ambitions are another matter entirely."

"I was able to use the book to develop a ritual to separate the Dark Lord's fragmented soul from Harry's," Hermione said, lifting the glass to her lips. She took a sip. "I never realized how much the book learned from me, though—that's why it was able to perform it. Brilliant creature, that dragon."

She kissed him then, somehow making it to her feet and crossing the distance between them in two light strides. His glass slowly lowered until it was carefully set back on the table, and his fingers brushed their way up to her face to wind through her hair.

"I was worried for you," she admitted quietly, pulling away to look him in the eye. "When Kreacher told me you were in the cellar with Charlie."

"That the blasted beast might eat me?" he asked half-humorously.

"That you might have also been a prisoner."

There was a long moment, and then Severus's head tilted forward, curtaining his face with his lanky hair. He let out a deep sigh, and then said—

"It doesn't matter if he chains me in the cellar or keeps me to do his bidding." He shook his left sleeve, the buttons silently coming undone and the cuff rolling back obligingly to reveal the ugly tattoo beneath. "As long as I bear the Dark Mark, I _am_ his prisoner."

Hermione placed her hand over his. "Not for much longer. The only thing holding him to this world is Nagini and himself." She gave him a calculating look. "Which brings us to our next goal…"

"You want to poison that snake, don't you?"

Hermione smirked at how predictable she was to her husband, but then it quickly evaporated. "Do you have a better suggestion?"

He gazed at her for a long moment, his eyes growing calmly blank as they always did when he was deep in thought and in the privacy of his own mind. Hermione stroked his hand with her thumb while she waited for him to come back to her, and when he did, his hand closed over her own.

"No. It's the simplest and easiest solution available to us." There was a pause, and then he said what they were both thinking. "But when Nagini inevitably expires, I will be the primary suspect. He will attempt to kill me, if I am not already gone."

"And when you fail to show up at his summons, his suspicions will be confirmed."

"It means we will have played our hand. To both the Dark Lord and to Dumbledore."

Hermione bit her lower lip. "My task is to handle you and help you maintain your cover at all costs. If you poison Nagini, your usefulness as a spy is finished. And Dumbledore will be furious…"

"The question is not whether I am unwilling to face the Headmaster's wrath," Severus said quietly, "but whether you are prepared to finally tell him that you have not been playing by his rules."

There was a long silence as Hermione pondered this, Severus patiently waiting for a response. He could see all the thoughts flying across her face—consideration at how powerful the Dark Lord was now and how much more powerful he had yet to become; what the odds were that their plan would be successful; the potential repercussions for him within Slytherin house at his betrayal. All this, he knew, was being sliced and diced and carefully dissected by the razor-sharp implement of Hermione's acumen.

And then her face became set with determination.

"I'm ready to bring us one more step closer to ending this war," she said.

~o~O~o~

The remaining two days of Easter Break was spent in Severus's private lab at Spinner's End. As an accomplished Potions Master, he could rattle off a list of untraceable poisons that left the victim dead with signs of other fatal medical diagnoses, such as an untimely heart attack or a stroke. But they knew that the Dark Lord would not see Nagini's death as an unfortunate natural passing, no matter how clever the concoction, and thus did not put their focus toward that sort of poison. The plan, then, was to focus on a poison that would be easiest to deliver and a certain killer. They couldn't afford for Nagini to survive the poisoning—there would be no retries.

They debated various methods without coming to a full agreement.

"He lets her have the run of the place, doesn't he?" Hermione asked, flipping through a simple text of common household pest-killers. "I know there are rats in Malfoy Manor, they can't keep the place perfectly immaculate. If you were to release a few in parts of the house she's likely to be about…"

"I propose one of Lucius's peacocks," Severus said, turning around in his chair. "She's been known to eat them opportunistically."

When school resumed, they went about their duties as though nothing had happened. And yet, that did not stop the students from talking about what had happened at the Ministry. As usual, everyone seemed to know—helped along by the _Daily Prophet_, of course—that Harry had been at the center of it. Or rather, Hermione was grateful that everyone seemed to interpret it that way. Harry had been in the thick of things, but there was fortunately no mention of her at all.

Dumbledore summoned her to his office the following Saturday, and it was with a fearful heart that Hermione sat down in one of the cozy chintz armchairs and rejected the offer of a lemon drop.

"I have some news that, I believe, changes the nature of this war," Dumbledore told her, pouring them both a cup of tea with a flick of his wand. He gave her an assessing look. "You were already aware that part of Voldemort's unstable and shattered soul had attached itself to Harry, were you not?"

"Yes," Hermione said, keeping her voice carefully neutral. Of course she knew. The Headmaster had undoubtedly had to know that whatever he told Severus at this point was akin to telling her. "And that he'd have to… that he must die, in order for Voldemort to die as well."

Dumbledore sighed. "As it turns out, this may not be the case." And then his expression brightened into one of such happiness that Hermione was rather taken aback. "I was not there to witness it, but Harry explained to me that the red dragon which took Charlie's body for his own performed a unique sort of ritual that almost cleanly separated his soul from Voldemort's."

Hermione pretended to be surprised, though her elation was nothing but genuine. "You mean—you're saying he doesn't have to die?"

"Harry is no longer attached to Voldemort, Hermione," Dumbledore said gently. He gave her a moment to let this sink in, and then said, "Which brings me to another matter. Gaunt's Ring, which you were so kind as to hold on—"

"I gave it to Harry," Hermione interjected quickly, thinking the Headmaster was about to ask for it.

"The dragon ate it."

Hermione blinked, and her mouth dropped open in surprise. "Oh."

"Yes, indeed. I'm afraid there's no getting it back. Pity, but perhaps it's for the greater good…"

But Hermione wasn't listening. Dumbledore had just told her that one of the Hallows, a vital piece to his plan, had just been irrevocably removed from the equation. Her mind whirled as it tried to absorb the impact and consequences this might have on both his further pursuits and her own plans.

"…This means that a great many things must be reconsidered, but in the end, we are one step closer to defeating Voldemort…"

Dumbledore no longer had a viable plan. Right now, there were only two obstacles in the way of Voldemort's death—Nagini, and the slimy snake-face himself. And she and her husband were already planning to off the first. They would certainly consider trying to poison the latter as well, but he reportedly never ate, and Hermione frankly wasn't willing to risk her husband's life to try and kill him. They could attack him from a different angle later—at this point in time, their joint concern was focused on making him mortal again.

"Naturally, I think Severus should be told…"

"I'm sorry?" Hermione said, not quite following where this had come from.

"About Harry's chances of survival, Hermione. His death is no longer guaranteed as a matter of course."

"And you want me to tell him?" Hermione asked dryly.

"No, I'm afraid I had best do that myself," Dumbledore said, giving Hermione a slight smile from behind his great white beard. "If you would be so kind as to send him up to my office after you've left, that would be greatly appreciated."

"Yes, Headmaster."

Their discussion was clearly over. Sensing she was dismissed, and all the more relieved for it, she politely excused herself and left. When she had traipsed the several floors down it took to reach their quarters, closed the door behind her and peered around.

"Severus?" she called.

"Over here," he said, looking up from his cauldron, though she could only see the top of his head from behind the chair. He had set it up over their fireplace and was kneeling down beside it to attend to it. Their favored sheepskin rug had been safely removed beforehand. "What did the Headmaster want?"

"Lots of things, the least being that he wants to speak to you," Hermione said, walking around to the fireplace. "I'm not sure how I feel about you brewing poison in the sitting room, Severus. We do eat here."

"It's the only place that the Headmaster doesn't have eyes," Severus replied. It was true. They had exiled the portraits that Slughorn had chosen to keep in the rooms when he was Potions Master. "Why does he need to see me?"

"I suspect he wants to apologize for making you believe Harry was going to die," Hermione said, kneeling beside him. "That's only a hunch, of course."

"He probably expects me to act _disappointed_," Severus muttered, as he began counting out his lionfish spines. "I'm glad Potter is no longer expected to die as a part of the Dark Lord's demise. That does not change the fact that I think he is a reckless and arrogant dunderhead who has no place being in my classroom. I'm not about to jump for joy."

"You must admit he's improved," Hermione said lightly.

"His improvement comes from the fact that he has finally realized the importance of reading and following my instructions to the letter," Severus ground out. "He has no natural inclination for the subject, and his essays are as dismal as ever."

"At least he's never destroyed a cauldron," Hermione pointed out. "Not by accident, anyway."

Severus turned to look at her. "Are you implying he's destroyed a cauldron on purpose, then?"

"Second year," Hermione said, cheeks pinking. "It was a diversion so that I could steal Boomslang skin from your stores. But you already knew that, I think."

"I did. It had blissfully slipped my mind until now. Are you sure I can't still get him expelled for that?"

"Quite sure, dear."

He left and she took over the brewing, endeavoring to keep the floor clean of contaminants as she did so. She was required to let the potion simmer for a quarter of an hour some thirty minutes later, and it wasn't until she had resumed stirring that her husband stormed back through the front door.

"That doesn't sound good," she remarked as the sound of his boots hitting the floor were followed shortly by them being kicked out of the way.

"It never is," he sniped.

The headmaster had a particular talent for putting her husband in a snit. And unfortunately, since she was in the middle of handling a potion, she couldn't focus her considerable talents into coaxing him out of it. Instead, she gestured for him to come over, and then pressed the stirring rod into his hands.

"Have fun with that. I have papers to grade."

He let out a muttered epithet, but when she glanced over her shoulder, it was to find he had settled himself back into brewing. She knew brewing calmed him; it was something he could and often did on autopilot. She pulled her second-year essays out of her side of the desk, nabbed her husband's favored quill and a fresh bottle of red ink, and proceeded to bleed over them.

When he finally reached a stopping point, knowing that the poison would have to be left to cool for some time before it could be continued, Hermione set the grading aside and was pulling him to his feet almost before he realized what was happening, and kissed him. It was soft but demanding, just like she was, and his resistance melted away almost immediately; his furrowed expression and frustration seemed to dissipate, unimportant in the face of his wife's affection.

"I think I know of a way to make your evening better," Hermione said, pulling his head down by the front of his shirt to murmur into his ear. "Don't you agree?"

~o~O~o~

Long after Hermione had fallen asleep, Severus lay wide awake in bed with only his thoughts for company. He was curled up against her, and his hand drifted through her hair every now and then as he considered the dilemma before him. Both an opportunity and a painful decision that his wife had finally forced to the table.

Would he give up his position as a spy to destroy the Dark Lord's last horcrux? Or would he change his mind and tell Hermione that he was more valuable as the only double-agent within Voldemort's ranks?

He was tired of spying. He was frankly tired of risking his life day in and day out for a reward that seemed a long time in coming, and any way to speed up the process was welcome to him. He was sick of walking on eggshells around an unpredictable, homicidal megalomaniac with little compunction about torturing his followers. Particularly now, that his moods were growing even more unstable, and his suspicions were starting to fall upon his Potions Master because of his wife. It was very tempting to simply quit while he was ahead and simultaneously flip both the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore the finger while he was at it.

But years as a spy had rapidly cooled his heels on making rash decisions. If he cut his ties within the Dark Lord's camp, there would be no going back, and they had no other source. There was no-one but him. It was why Dumbledore had been so stern about the necessity of Hermione helping him carefully cultivate his position within their ranks.

He was willing to follow his wife's orders, but he also wondered if she had thoroughly thought this through. His marriage to Professor Granger was common knowledge among the Dark Lord's circle, and he suspected several of his Slytherins were already aware through their parents, though they fortunately kept their mouths shut. Aside from the minor inconvenience that would be caused by students talking, which Severus hardly considered worth giving much merit in the decision-making, openly defecting would have a serious effect on his relationship within his house.

He could do it. Take out Nagini, removing the Dark Lord's last horcrux, and make their enemy mortal once more. He couldn't hope to poison the Dark Lord, he was too well protected, but he could make him vulnerable. Send a message to his Slytherins, many of whom were considering a place among his ranks—though many of them held strongly to their notions of blood purity, Severus was certain they would still fear him enough to at least give him their ear. He was their feared teacher, their trusted Head of House, and until the moment of his announced defection, one of the highest-ranked members among Lord Voldemort's circle. He would still command a certain level of unshakeable authority.

His life would still be difficult even if he was no longer a spy, he allowed. He would be one of the Dark Lord's targets, right alongside Muggle-borns and Blood-traitors—moreso, possibly, as the Dark Lord would take his defection as the greatest of insults. He still had a son to protect, though he was fortunately disassociated from his family name. He had a wife who could take care of herself, but with his defection, she would lose a bit of the protection that her connection to him had allowed her to enjoy. She would become targeted, rather than merely tolerated.

Additionally, her identity as Hermione Granger—the 5th-year student who had mysteriously disappeared—would almost certainly be revealed.

No matter how he looked at it, his defection was a disaster waiting to happen. There were so many chains of events that could unfold, and all of them resulted in having only his wife at his side to get through them. Dumbledore would surely be furious, and Severus sourly predicted that he would get no help from the Headmaster.

But it was still their decision to make. At this stage in the game, they had a better view of the chessboard than Albus Dumbledore. And though Severus admired, respected, and even felt some degree of affection for the Headmaster… he agreed with Hermione: it was time to take a risk to kill the black queen.

Still unable to sleep, and fervently praying that they were doing the right thing, he slowly extricated himself from the bed—careful not to disturb Hermione—and padded out to the living room. The cauldronful of poison awaited him from its place by the fire, and he bent over to examine it. A thought occurred to him, the realization that this would never do: Nagini was a horcrux. She could surely be killed by normal means, but the piece of the Dark Lord's soul inside her could not. He wished it had occurred to him earlier that normal poisons would not do the trick. A flick of his hand, and a book wriggled out of its place on the bookshelf above the mantle and sailed into his hand. It was a thick tome, bound in black leather that had not been cleaned in a long time. He snapped his fingers with a muttered "_Lumos,"_ and allowed himself to fall into one of the armchairs. Holding a tiny ball of light between his thumb and forefinger, he scanned through the chapter on Horcruxes in of _Secrets of the Darkest Art._ After bypassing the explicit instructions on their creation, he came across the passage he was looking for:

_Horcruxes are extremely dangerous to create, and just as terribly difficult to unmake. If the horcrux is inanimate, it is nearly indestructible; the normal means of killing it, by either curse or physical injury, will be ineffective. It must be doused in the acidic and virtually incurable venom of a Basilisk or smelted within the uncontrollable and vicious flames of Fiendfyre. In the event that the horcrux is animate, the Killing Curse is just as effective._

There was nothing, not a word, on poison. Severus re-read the passage once more, and then looked over the rest of the chapter to ascertain he had not missed anything, before shutting the book with a snap. He was wrong. They could not poison Nagini, not unless they did it with Basilisk venom. A finger came to his lips to trace them as he glowered at the fireplace, which seemed to be crackling merrily just to spite him. It was fortunate that the Killing Curse would work in a pinch, but he planned to be long gone before Nagini expired, and he was rather reluctant to unleash Fiendfyre upon his godson's residence.

Then the answer came to him. They _did_ have the correct poison on hand. Potter had left the corpse of an enormous, millennium-old Basilisk down in the Chamber of Secrets. He had destroyed the Diary horcrux with one of its fangs. Potter could give them access, and given he was no longer linked to the Dark Lord's mind, Severus had no fear that their plan would be accidentally exposed by involving him. Not if they were otherwise discreet.

_Very well, Potter,_ he thought moodily, placing the book back. _It's time you made yourself useful…_

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**Please review!**

**~Anubis Ankh**


	35. Chapter 39

**A/N: I have work now. Actual work. It's amazing how much time that eats up, now that I have an actual job. My next post will probably be in June, when I finally have a week or so of vacation. It's always hard to edit when a story is nearing the homestretch, but even harder when you have so little time to do so.**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

* * *

There was an awkward silence as the four of them—Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Severus himself—stood in front of the sink in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Hermione placed a hand over her mouth, looking distressed. Ron was giving Harry a look that said _what do you think you're doing_ that Severus recognized all too well. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and then allowed his hand to drop to his side, feigning composure.

"What do you mean," he said softly, "that you've suddenly lost the ability to speak Parseltongue?"

"I can't do it," Harry said, one hand on the snake-decorated tap and looking bewildered. "I could do it before. I don't know why…"

"Must be from the link," Ron said, looking a bit green. "Now that you haven't got it, you can't use some of those abilities You-Know-Who gave you."

_Of all the worst possible times to _not_ be mentally linked to the Dark Lord,_ Severus growled inwardly.

Ron made a choked hissing sound that jerked him to attention, and then gave Harry a sheepish look. "It sounded something like that, when you did it."

Hermione was wearing the same expression she always did when contemplating something very hard. Severus placed a palm over one eye and rubbed hard, trying to rid himself of an impending headache. And then his eyes flew open as he heard a strangled hiss not from the two boys who were attempting to coax the sink open, but his wife.

There was a sudden clunk, and they all took a quick step back as the porcelain began to slowly sink into the ground, revealing the tunnel that would carry them under the school. He gave her a look of amazement, and she returned it with a sheepish smile and a shrug.

"I've heard it spoken a few times," she said. "I know how it's supposed to sound." She gave both boys a smirk. "I suspect you had the right word, but severely mispronounced it."

"It's Wingardium Levi-_oh_-sa," the redhead muttered under his breath, as they peered down into the darkness. "Not Levi-oh-_sar…"_

Satisfied—no, relieved—that they had still somehow managed, Severus rolled up the sleeves of his robes and leaned over. It was unfortunate that they had company and were attempting to keep their presence largely unknown, or he would have taken the opportunity to push Hermione down first. She would kill him for it later, but it was always worth it. But he would not be so undignified in front of Potter and Weasley. Not today.

Tucking his wand inside his sleeve, he pushed himself forward without another word. His world turned black, as the walls of the tunnel sped by in a blur of darkness and stone. It took longer than the secret passage behind the One-Eyed Witch's hump, but the ride came to an end as he fell out at the bottom, landing gracefully on both feet. He lit his wand, not waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom.

Snakeskin. Snakeskin everywhere, sized for a monster he never wanted to confront. He kicked a rock out of his way as he quickly cast a revealing spell, and finding nothing alive save for a few rodents scurrying about in the darkness, began picking his way forward. There was a sliding sound, and then a dull thump from behind.

"Severus?" Hermione's voice stopped him, and he heard her boots crunching down on the discarded snakeskin. There was a pause, and then he felt her fingers searching for his, and grasp them tightly. It took him a moment to realize that she was unnerved. "Do you see it?"

"No." There was a wall of rubble just beyond, and Severus raised his wand toward it. The debris slowly lifted up and began to float away, clearing their path. "Potter said there was a cave-in when they were last here. It'll be beyond." He cocked his head at her. "Are Potter and Weasley staying behind?"

"I ordered them to," Hermione said flatly. "There's no need for all four of us to be down here."

The tunnel continued to weave back and forth, and eventually, came to a stop. The wall had an opening guarded by two snakes, and it looked as though it had been left ajar for years: a fine layer of dust had collected on the sides of the door. They cautiously stepped through.

They found themselves at one end of a long and dimly-lit chamber; it was grounded by pillars that rose up and out of sight, into the darkness and beyond. A flick of Hermione's wand, and the ancient snake-carved torch brackets flared to life, revealing them in all their glory. The room was a Slytherin's shrine; enormous snakes hovered in the shadows, looking quite real for all that they were made entirely of stone. More than once, Severus thought he saw one move, but was convinced that it was a trick of the light. The room was entirely silent save for the echoes of their footsteps as they made their way across the damp floor.

And then, at the other end, Severus's eyes alighted upon the carved visage of his house's founder. His heart let out an unwitting jolt; this was the legacy of the man whose house he had grown up in, had served in, had categorically defined himself by for most of his life. A man whose values he had adopted since childhood—cunning and ambition chiefly among them—yet whose many philosophies he had also come to abhor—the prejudice against his wife's heritage, for one…

And then his eyes slowly grazed down to the floor, where the crumpled figure of Slytherin's monstrous creation lay. It was nothing but skin and bones now, though the coolness of the chamber had helped preserve it. Hermione stopped as they came closer, and she released his hand to allow him to approach without her. He knelt down beside the creature's head, and the hole in its skull gave him pause: it was where Potter had rammed the sword of Gryffindor through the roof of its mouth to kill it. Part of him had always doubted the veracity of Potter's tale, and deep down, he had believed it to be an exaggeration—and yet, the proof was staring him in the face. Metaphorically, of course. The beast's eyes were long gone.

"I…" he heard Hermione say. She swallowed. "I never got to get a good look at it, not the first time it Petrified me, and not the night I saw it when Ginny wrote the first message on the wall…"

Wordlessly, Severus reached into his pocket for a pair of dragon-hide gloves, and slipped them on. He closed his hand around a prominent fang jutting out, and pulled; it snapped free.

There was a moment of silence, as he retrieved a phial and began extracting the remnants of the venom from the fang; there was very little of it left. He set the fang aside, and with two fingers, reached up into the cavity just above where he had removed the tooth. Something dark and venomous-looking leaked out, and he placed the phial underneath to catch it.

"To think we had this thing roaming about the school for a thousand years." His wife gave a hollow laugh, and it was at this moment that he knew: she was rattled. This creature had caught her once, and had been removed in an out-of-sight out-of-mind manner; fear of the creature had festered, and now she was finally facing it. "Slithering around in the pipes. It's a shame it had to be killed."

This gave Severus pause. "A shame?"

"It didn't hurt anyone until Riddle deliberately set it to attack," Hermione said quietly. "I saw Harry's memories when I was teaching him Occlumency. Every time the snake attacked him, it was because Riddle ordered it to do so." She shrugged, and looked away. "I doubt it would have hurt anyone if it had been left to its own devices."

"Perhaps," Severus said in a clipped tone, as he finally pulled the phial away from the body and capped it. "We'll never know."

"This feels wrong," Hermione admitted, as he pocketed the venom and began running his glove-clad fingers along the skin that was still intact. She sounded reluctant, as though afraid of saying the wrong thing, but he knew that would hardly stop her from saying what she thought needed to be said. "So many of Hogwart's treasures have been destroyed in this war. They're—they're casualties." She struggled to articulate herself. "Pieces of history destroyed."

"I don't suppose you considered it a casualty when it was going around attempting to kill you all?" Severus asked dourly, not pleased at the memory.

Hermione let out a nervous snort. "No. But I do now."

"I think the school's better off without a Basilisk in our pipes," Severus muttered, as he flicked out a knife and began to cut back some of the skin. Yet, he found himself agreeing with her, albeit on a very faint level: the snake was, in effect, a relic of Slytherin's past and contribution to the school. Not a very pleasant one, though. He certainly wouldn't want his son attending with it alive and present, and it was because of the Basilisk that they had sent him away the first time. He doubted Hermione would either. Still, he was not unsympathetic to what she was trying to express.

"Well," he said at last, after he had collected what he wanted. "If you're looking for piece of Hogwart's past, we still have the Sorting Hat."

He threw the carved statue of Salazar Slytherin a last look, his expression furrowed in contemplation. He knew what it meant to be a Slytherin. He did not know whether Slytherin himself would have approved of the way the world had changed, or of the change of heart experienced by the man who now represented and cared for his house—but the core values of what made the House of Slytherin notable had remained the same, and Severus was resolved to them. Satisfied, he turned to leave.

Hermione wrapped her hand in his again, once he had removed his gloves.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked quietly, as they made their way back to the tunnel.

"Whether I should have taken the Basilisk's head to mount over our fireplace," Severus replied, his voice droll.

"Goodness, no!" his wife protested, as they stepped back into the darkness. A smile crept upon his lips when she added, with a trace of her particular brand of cheerfulness, "It would clash with the décor."

~o~O~o~

He smacked Wormtail's hand away from the cauldron he was supervising.

"Hands to yourself, Wormtail," he said lazily, as he brought the temperature down to let the cauldron's contents simmer. "I don't need your clumsiness ruining my work at this stage."

There was a hiss from beneath the worktable, and Severus felt his cheek twitch at the sound; Nagini had taken to roaming the house at will months ago, oftentimes following Wormtail wherever he went, and today was no exception. Severus suspected it was on the Dark Lord's orders: with a snake on his tail, it would be very difficult for Wormtail to get away in his Animagus form. He was a slippery and untrustworthy creature, and though useful to the Dark Lord, was clearly not to be trusted.

There was a shout from upstairs, and Severus's head jerked around when he heard a loud crash.

"Get this filth off the floor," Lucius's voice snapped, muffled through the door. "Why did you bring them here, Greyback?"

There was a muffled, raspy response that Severus recognized as Greyback. His voice grew clearer when Wormtail scurried over to the door to pry it open in order to eavesdrop. "—Ollivander. And the other, his _companion_—" There was a subdued thump "—looks to be the ice cream wizard."

"It's Fortescue," Wormtail whispered, more to himself than anything else. "He's still alive."

Severus said nothing, but turned his back on the door to decant his potion.

"Lock them in the cellar. No—no, Greyback, _I'll_ inform the Dark Lord," Lucius said crisply. There was a sudden snap of "Wormtail!" and the man let out a squeak of surprise at the summons before hastily opening the door. It shut behind him, once again muffling the sound of what was happening upstairs. Moments later, there was a shuffle and a snap as the door was opened again, and this time, Wormtail reappeared—dragging two bodies with him.

It was indeed Ollivander and Fortescue. It was immediately apparent that they had both been in hiding—they were pale and thin, and quite haggard. Fortscue's beard was scraggly and stained with blood from what looked to be a broken nose; Ollivander's white hair was dirty and caked with streaks of brown. Both men were unconscious, and Wormtail unceremoniously hauled them down the steps and to the far end of the cellar where Charlie had once been chained up. Nagini watched him with a beady, poisonous eye, and then turned away with a hiss.

Severus forced himself to calmly assess the situation. He had two men—unconscious, and now chained—down here with him, along with both Wormtail and Nagini. The Dark Lord would undoubtedly arrive shortly to interrogate the prisoners. Ollivander would likely be spared because he was useful, but he knew Fortescue would not. How Fortescue had survived and managed to fake his death, Severus was not certain; but it was immediately apparent to him that the owner of the ice cream parlor had spent the last year and a half looking after the older, frailer wand-maker.

If he was already planning to compromise his position, he might as well use the opportunity to rescue the pair, he mused. He was loathe to abandon them in order to save his own hide—in the past, he had to make sacrifices to maintain his cover for the greater good. But he had no such excuse here, nor would he entertain it.

But there was the problem of the Dark Lord's ever-approaching arrival, as well as the presence of others in the house—as well as Wormtail and Nagini. He needed more time. If the Dark Lord was out of the way, he could remove them…

Upstairs was quiet, save for the sound of Greyback arguing with Lucius over how much gold he and his Snatchers were owed for the capture. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of Severus's forehead, and it had nothing to do with the heat coming from the cauldron. It would either have to be now, or after the Dark Lord had come and gone, after which only one or even neither might still be alive. He made a quick calculation: the Dark Lord had not responded to the summons immediately, meaning that he did not consider the matter urgent. He could come any minute now, or he could come hours, days, perhaps even a full week later. Severus doubted it would be that long, but if he had not already arrived, there was a chance he had a good window to work with.

His hands slowly slipped into his pockets; one fingered his wand, the other the small phial of venom he had extracted from the Basilisk. And then, quick as a cobra, he struck. There was a flash of red light, and Wormtail slumped to the floor from where he had been adjusting the prisoners' chains. Nagini reared up, fangs bared, and Severus felt a flash of fear—mixed with rage—as he faced the snake. Three steps forward, placing himself between Nagini and the prisoners, and he raised his wand to her:

"_Sectumsempra!"_

A jagged cut sliced across Nagini's belly, causing a shower of dark red to spurt out, and she lunged for him; venom in hand and uncorked, Severus threw it. It crashed into her and shattered, leaking dark liquid and stained glass into the wound. And then the world blurred: there was an angry and wounded hiss. Her tail lashed too quickly for his eyes to follow and swept his legs out from underneath him, and before he had fully registered what happened, he was on the floor. And then he registered the sharp sensation of fangs sinking into his shoulder. He struggled to throw her off, grappling for his wand, but unable to hold it right as Nagini's venom seeped into his body. His shoulder was starting to tingle with disconcerting warning, and he thrashed underneath her weight, trying to free the deadly fangs from his arm—

A brown, leather-clad foot struck the dying snake in the face, causing her to jerk back in surprise, thereby releasing him in the process. Struggling to sit up, Severus leaned back and kicked, catching the side of Nagini's face, preventing her from striking him again. He felt both pain and panic welling up inside him—he could die here, trying to kill Nagini. He could die, and Hermione wouldn't know—Selenius wouldn't understand—he _couldn't_—

He kicked out a second time in desperation, and the snake swayed. Instead of attempting to strike him again, the head fell to the ground with a thump; her body twitched once, twice, three times—and then lay still. The Basilisk venom had done its work. Severus lay there, panting. He had intended to poison Nagini and then leave before anything happened, but the situation had quickly spiraled out of control. Heaving himself onto his feet, knowing he had to move quickly, Severus staggered over to one of the shelves lined along the wall. Anti-venin—he needed it, and quickly, he was already losing feeling in his arm…

There was a quietly muttered _"Relashio!"_ and Severus's head jerked around in time to see that Fortescue had his wand. The man scrambled onto his knees, and after doing the same to Ollivander's chains, hauled the still-unconscious wand-maker up and onto his back.

"We need to get out of here—"

"Quiet," Severus hissed. His fingers groped the shelf, searching for the right bottle. "Don't make a sound—they mustn't hear…"

His hands closed around what he hoped was the right vial. He struggled to open it with one hand, and when this did not work, lifted it to his mouth and yanked it free with his teeth. He spat out the cork, and without bothering to measure out a dose, took a liberal mouthful of the life-saving liquid. He was in pain; his left arm was a mass of writhing, paralyzing agony—but he was alive. Leaning against the shelf, still panting from the exertion, he closed his eyes for just a moment.

"Give me back my wand," he said quietly, when he had opened them again. He was feeling woozy—the venom was undoubtedly still making its way through his body faster than the antivenin could counteract it—and forced his eyes to focus on Fortescue. The man hesitated. He had known Severus for years, he knew his wife, and was likely one of the few people aware that the Snapes perhaps had a son. And yet, this was such an outlandish and frightening situation, and to give up the only weapon he had was the height of foolishness. Yet, he held it out to him. Trusting him. Severus took the stick of ebony back with shaking fingers. "We need a way out."

"You didn't have a plan before this, did you?" Fortescue asked. Aside from the blood smeared on his face, he looked rather well for a man who had been beaten and thrown into a cellar. His eyes were intense, alert, and hopeful despite their current predicament.

"You were not a part of the plan." Severus squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of pain washed over him, with the force of a crashing wave, knocking his feet out from underneath him. He fell to his knees in surprise. Dizzily, he assessed that he had perhaps gone about this the wrong way. "Anti-Apparition wards… we need the Floo—"

"The only Floo I know of is in the drawing room upstairs, and last I saw, there were Death Eaters there," Fortescue said shortly. He frowned for a moment, and then his face brightened. He gave Severus the sort of smile that suggested that he was about to recommend something monumentally stupid as an escape.

"Snape, give me your wand."

"What are you going to do?" His words were deceptively calm for a man who, at the moment, knew his own survival was in serious question. Nevertheless, he surrendered the wand to Fortescue, who pointed it at the door. It felt wrong to give up his wand—just about as wrong as chopping his own hand off and gift-wrapping it to someone else—but it was the only tool they had, and he was in no condition to cast.

"I'm not an expert on Medieval witch-burnings for nothing," Fortescue declared. He shifted Ollivander's unconscious to one side, and pointed at the doorway: "_Incendio!"_

The door to the cellar burst into flames. Without a moment's halt, Fortescue reached down with his free hand and grabbed Severus's wrist, hauling him unsteadily to his feet. There was a cry of alarm from above, but Florean Fortescue was not to be discouraged: half-dragging and half-carrying both wizards up the steps, waved the wand once over himself and his companions, and gave the door an almighty kick. It caved in.

"You're insane," Severus managed to get out, as Fortescue dragged him through the other room. They were surrounded on all sides by hungry flames, and though they licked at their feet, Severus found that he experienced nothing more than a peculiar tickling sensation. Through the flames, he could see the faint silhouettes of the Death Eaters who had either been caught in the blast, or had come to investigate. They were all hanging back, shouting at each other, trying to understand what happened— and as the fire spread through the room, devouring a fortune in its wake, the three wizards making their escape went unnoticed.

Severus found it only mildly odd that no one else seemed to have considered casting a Flame-Freezing Charm.

The fireplace was only twenty feet from the door, and most conveniently, already lit; Severus felt himself being hauled toward the grate and was unceremoniously pushed inside as Fortescue reached for the Floo powder to turn the flames green.

"—look! Someone's using the Floo—they're trying to get away!"

Strong hands grabbed his shoulders and shoved him into the fireplace. His head lolled to the side as the world spun in and out of focus.

"_Diagon—"_

"No—" With a heave, Severus managed to push himself upright. "_Tine Cottage!"_

The flames glowed emerald, and then their world began to spin dizzily. Severus caught a last glimpse of Lucius Malfoy through the flames; the blond man was gazing at him in rage and disbelief. And then ash whipped up into his face, causing him to cough, and the sickening rotation stopped.

He fell backwards from the grate and onto the cobblestone floor. He let out a grunt of pain as both Fortescue stumbled over him, bringing both himself and his unconscious companion down on the Potions Master, knocking the wind out of him. It was still daylight; the various colorful glass decorations by the kitchen window sparkled at them in merry greeting. His eyes closed in relief, and he squeezed them shut when he heard a chair scrape back, and a familiar—and entirely unwelcome—voice spluttered out, "Bloody hell! _Snivellus!_"

He couldn't seem to force his eyes back open. He was too exhausted, in too much pain, and wasn't certain he could move his arm. Something warm and wet was pooling by his head, soaking into his hair, and the coppery tang it left in his mouth alerted him to the fact that it was blood. His own blood.

And then he stopped being concerned about that, as two pairs of hands dragged him fully out of the fireplace. The realization of what he had done finally hit him. He was free. He wasn't going to go back. He was done serving the Dark Lord.

And then he fainted.

~o~O~o~

The room he was in was dark when he awoke, and when he first registered it, he lashed out in panic, terrified at the thought he had gone blind. That was his first fear. But after a moment, the silhouettes and shapes of furniture sharpened into focus, and he slowly sank back into the bed. He couldn't move his arm, and his neck felt stiff. But gradually, as his senses returned to him, he realized he was not alone. There was somebody up against him, a familiar and pressing weight curled up against his side. His eyes flicked to the side, and he felt warmth spread through him as eyes confirmed what he already knew: Hermione was here.

There was a second weight, and he realized that on his other side, there was someone else. And then something soft, warm, fluffy, and slightly ticklish flicked by his head. His head shifted slightly, and Crookshanks' tail fluttered under his nose, as though threatening to make him sneeze if he so much as disturbed the cat's sleeping spot. He closed his eyes. Hermione was here. Her cat—and his son's, by extension—was here. And that meant the smaller, unfamiliar weight by his other side was…

Struggling against the paralyzing stiffness that had overtaken a good portion of his upper left body, Severus twisted his neck to the side. Selenius was there. He couldn't see very well at this angle, but he could tell that his son was curled on his other side, and that half of Crookshanks's enormous body was being used as his pillow.

A pair of orange eyes glowed at him from above, glaring at him as though to blame him for the indignity, and Severus weakly smirked at the half-kneazle.

"Suffer," he muttered hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper.

The cat blinked at him, and then turned his head away.

Severus yawned, and then allowed his head to sink back into the soft pillow. His heart was beating erratically, though with fear or excitement he could not say. He could only register the peacefulness of the moment, how right it felt to be with his family. It was as though a heavy burden had been lifted; the threat of the Dark Lord still loomed, yet with Nagini gone and he himself no longer among the Death Eater's ranks... he was experiencing an incomprehensible, indescribable sense of relief.

He glanced over at his wife's bushy head, her hair spilling over the pillow in a wild spread, and managed to curl his arm underneath her cheek. She shifted, and then one eye opened.

Their gazes met, though neither said a word. Black met brown, and then she smiled at him. Her hand came to rest over his wrist, and she turned her lips to his palm. No words were necessary as she kissed the inside of his hand, and then moved in closer to kiss his lips. Her eyes told him everything: pride, concern, happiness and joy. There was determination and uncertainty mixed in there, but her gaze told him that he had done well. She was pleased with him, to say the least.

He tilted his head toward her, and she snuggled up closer to his side until her cheek was pressed against his.

He studied her, even after her eyes had slid shut again. This woman who had led him safely through twenty years of madness, had sacrificed her well-being to maintain his cover, had shown him unwavering love and trust—and even at this late stage in the game, where they were bone-weary of this war, and were starting to shed their roles… she was still by his side. All things considered, he had rather bollocksed his attempt to kill Nagini. And yet, despite knowing this, for he knew that she _must_ know the story by now—she was still… here. As always.

Nagini was dead, of course. But it had been much messier than planned. So much for poisoning a rat and feeding the dead rodent to her, but attempting to rescue Fortescue and Ollivander had thrown a wrench into his careful, simple scheme. Suddenly uncomfortable from sitting in the same position for so long, he tried to shift his left arm.

A wave of wooziness hit him so suddenly that his eyes fluttered shut. No. He mustn't do that. Deciding not to reopen his eyes—he could ponder the events that had led up to his currently incapacitated state later—he allowed himself to drift off to sleep.

* * *

**Please review!**


	36. Chapter 40

**A/N: I've been in Costa Rica for a week. Did you know that there are scorpions the size of a human hand that like to roam kitchens? It's fun to come into the kitchen one morning, only to hear someone screaming, "_Kill it! Kill it!"_ Heh.**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

**Please review!**

* * *

Morning found Hermione sitting at the kitchen table with Florean and a cup of tea. Kreacher had set out some of his best biscuits for the both of them, and the two were quietly munching away while they waited for the house to awaken. Severus and Selenius were still upstairs with Crookshanks. Ollivander had been put up in one of the guest bedrooms, and was still resting. Sirius had left to have words with Dumbledore after Hermione arrived, leaving her to ensure that everyone remained comfortable.

What might have otherwise been an awkward and uncomfortable silence was broken by Florean's explanation of the past eighteen months.

"I got away with Ollivander when we were attacked two summers ago," he said. "When I discovered that everyone thought I was dead, I realized it was the best chance of hiding, you see."

"They found a body," Hermione answered, setting down her teacup. "Obviously not yours, of course."

"It's probably the brute that broke into my place," Florean replied, scratching the side of his newly-healed nose. "They were after me, too. That's why Ollivander and I decided we'd make ourselves scarce. We've been living up in the mountains, using abandoned Muggle homes and caves."

"How'd the Snatchers find you?" Hermione asked, as she reached for another ginger newt.

Florean chuckled self-deprecatingly. "Ollivander and I had a lot of time on our hands to try and figure out why You-Know-Who was after us," he said. "I had a few theories, and decided to pay West Country a visit. We were in Godric's Hollow when one of them recognized Ollivander."

Hermioned chewed her lower lip. Had Voldemort set a trap for Harry there after the Ministry fiasco, and unwittingly ensnared these two instead?

"Why Godric's Hollow?" Hermione asked, dipping her newt into her tea before taking a bite.

"History has always fascinated me, I must admit," Florean said, and Hermione could tell that there was quite a bit of pride behind this statement. "I thought we might find something there."

"And you thought you might find something there?" Hermione asked curiously.

Florean shook his head. "It was a wasted trip," he said.

"What do you think You-Know-Who wanted to do with you and Ollivander?"

"What would he want with a historian and wand-maker, you mean?" Florean clarified. He took a deep gulp of tea, and then set the mug down with a sigh. "Ollivander and I think he was after a wand. There's a legend about a powerful wand made of Elder wood—very old, mostly lost in legend, and one of a kind. It's the only thing that makes sense, you see. Perhaps he was hoping we would know where to find it."

Hermione's eyebrows rose to her hairline. Florean _was_ unusually well-versed in history, if he and Ollivander were able to discern Voldemort's intentions with such accuracy. She was impressed.

"And if he'd asked you, would you have been able to tell him?"

Florean shook his head. "I could have told him who probably last had it," he said, "but I couldn't tell who has it now. It was either Livius or Arcus who had it," he added, seeing Hermione's querying look. "Ollivander and I had a grand debate over who it was, and I'm quite convinced it was Arcus." Seeing her confusion, he clarified, "This was after the death of Loxias. No one's quite certain who killed him, as even his own mother tried to take credit for it."

Hermione snorted into her tea at this in surprise. "Oh, dear."

"Ollivander thinks it was Livius. Who really took it, and who inherited it after, neither of us can begin to guess."

Kreacher re-appeared at that moment with a plate of ham-and-bacon sandwiches, and Hermione watched as Florean eagerly helped himself to one. After being on the run for nearly two years, it was no wonder that the sight of good food made him light up like a child at Christmas. Hermione sipped her tea in silence as he worked his way through the first sandwich, and then continued her questioning.

"And… yesterday?"

Florean wiped his mouth with a napkin. "We were taken to the Malfoys' Wiltshire residence," he began. "Ollivander and I had already taken a bit of a beating from the Snatchers, but when they weren't looking, I tried to take one of their wands. That got the both of us knocked out for a bit." He looked Hermione straight in the eye. "When I woke up, it was to find your husband trying to fight off You-Know-Who's giant snake."

Hermione swallowed. When Sirius had summoned her to Tine Cottage, she had been shocked at the damage done to him— two long, jagged piercings in his left shoulder. It had probably scraped the bone.

"And what did you do?"

"I kicked the snake across the face," Florean said without prevarication. "And then he kicked it—it died shortly after that, I'm not sure why."

"Severus was meant to poison it," Hermione murmured.

"I don't understand," Florean said, and Hermione could see that his knuckles had turned white against the mug. "Your husband was a Death Eater. And yet…"

Hermione shook her head. "Severus was a spy," she said quietly. It felt good to tell Fortescue this, now that there was no longer a need for such secrecy. "We were already planning to quietly get rid of Nagini by poisoning her. But when you were brought in…" she gave him a tiny smile. "He was already planning to blow his cover by killing Nagini—I suspect he decided to take you two with him for good measure."

Florean leaned over his tea, and it took Hermione a moment to realize that his eyes were closed.

"Your husband saved my life," he whispered. "Thank you."

Hermione shook her head.

"You saved him, too," she said with quiet sincerity. "Most would have left him behind, but you took him with you. And for that, I won't ever be able to repay you."

There was a moment of silence, and then Hermione got to her feet.

"This house is Secret-Kept by myself, Severus, and Sirius Black," she said. "You'll be safe here, and you're welcome to stay for as long as you like."

~o~O~o~

Hermione peeled away the last of the bandages on her husband's shoulder and examined the wound. The bleeding had stopped, but as they had failed to apply dittany in time, there would be scarring. She placed a gentle kiss on his shoulder, simply glad that he was alive and well. His arm and upper body was still a bit stiff and swollen in some places, limiting his range of motion. Fortunately, given that he was right-handed, he could still use his wand.

Selenius was sitting cross-legged on the bed with Crookshanks curled up on his lap, waiting for his mother's verdict. When Hermione did not re-apply the bandages, his worried expression morphed into a smile of hope.

"So he's going to be okay?"

"I shall be fine," Severus replied quietly. He raised his hand to his left shoulder, tentatively placing his fingers on the wound. "Assuming your mother ever lets me leave."

"Bed rest was what you needed, Severus," Hermione said unrepentantly, as she helped her husband into his white-sleeved shirt and began rolling up the cuffs. She had kept him confined for the last two days. "You can return to Hogwarts tomorrow."

"The Headmaster has said he would like a word with me."

"That will have to wait until I've had a word with him, first," Hermione said staunchly.

Severus's lips quirked up at this ever so slightly; Albus Dumbledore would undoubtedly be furious at Severus's open defection, but he had done it on Hermione's orders, and it would be Hermione who would face his wrath. His wife wasn't about to leave him hanging.

Then they both turned to their son.

"Selenius, you mustn't let on that you know what happened last Friday," Hermione said quietly. "You must act as surprised as anyone else."

"I know," Selenius said, his voice barely audible. His arms were wrapped so tightly around Crookshanks' middle that it was a wonder that the cat could still breathe, but the half-kneazle was tolerating it.

"I'm aware that you are used to things being said about your father," Hermione continued quietly, rubbing her husband's uninjured arm comfortingly. "But there are things that might be said that you will be tempted to refute. You must not give anyone reason to think you have a particular interest—"

"I know, mum."

"Alright." Hermione leaned over to kiss the top of his head. Crookshanks batted at her face lightly, as though to remind her he was there. "Say good-bye to your father—you'll see him tomorrow in class."

Selenius hugged her, and then released her to gingerly hug his father's right side. Severus's uninjured arm came around to return the gesture, and he pressed his lips to his son's hair.

"Be good. Don't react."

"I won't," Selenius said quietly. "I'm proud of you, Dad."

~o~O~o~

Word travelled quickly around Hogwarts, and Harry had no choice but to admire the speed with which news jumped from person to person. He had to admire it in the same way he would warily note the various ways in which a Blast-Ended Skrewt could cause pain. The Slytherins were the first to be notified of Snape's defection, the Ravenclaws second. The Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors found out at about roughly the same time. By the time breakfast had concluded on Monday, it was all over the school.

"I didn't even know he _was_ a Death Eater!" Ernie Macmillian said quickly, stopping by the Gryffindor table before class. "But Michael Corner says he killed You-Know-Who's snake, and word has it he helped Ollivander get away." He took a deep breath, having run out of air to speak, but was interrupted by Neville.

"Did you know Florean Fortescue was still alive?"

"Is he? That's one of the other rumors going around—that he was brought in with Ollivander. He's the wand-maker you know, the one who disappeared—"

"Yes, Ernie, we all know who Ollivander is," Ginny interjected dryly.

"Yes, but where is he now?"

Harry chanced a glance up at the staff table. Snape was sitting in his usual spot at the end of the table, with Hermione on his other side. He looked utterly unconcerned by the fact that he was the subject of conversation, either surveying them with his usual sneer of disdain, or ignoring them in favor of finishing his meal. He acted as though nothing had happened at all.

Selenius was picking at his food, saying nothing, but it was very obvious to Harry that he was listening to every word.

"I don't know why the Ministry hasn't arrested him," Parvati said in a hushed voice. "I mean, it doesn't matter if he's defected, does it? He's still a Death Eater."

"Well, they probably have a good reason for it," Harry said, thinking that Scrimgeour's good reason was probably the bushy-haired woman sitting to Snape's right. "They've no proof that he's done anything except kill Nagini, and they're not exactly going to arrest him for that are they?"

"I don't know when he'd have time to go off and be a Death Eater," Ron said, making a face. "Lunch breaks, maybe?"

Harry saw Selenius snort into his food with surprise.

"It's still wrong," Lavender insisted, from her side of the table. "Letting a Death Eater teach at Hogwarts. We always knew there wasn't something right about him—didn't he try to poison Neville, once?"

"No," Neville said miserably. "He tried to poison my toad."

"It was a brave toad," Selenius said, his expression not changing one whit.

Neville turned to look at Selenius, looking rather pained.

Ginny's eyes traveled between the second-year and seventh-year, frowning in confusion. "Whatever happened to Trevor, anyway?"

Selenius shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I used a Disarming Charm on him."

"You smacked him into the wall," Neville said, sounding resigned.

"He was an old toad," Selenius replied sullenly. "He was going to go at any moment."

"And you just helped him along, is that it?"

There were other theories, many far unkinder than the ones at the Gryffindor table. Several Ravenclaws suggested that Snape had defected to save his hide, because Voldemort wasn't strong enough to take on the Ministry, and was therefore losing the battle. The Hufflepuffs were terrified out of their wits that Snape would try to poison them next. And the Slytherins were a visibly angry and sullen lot—it was not uncommon to see them having hushed conversations in the corridors, glaring at their fellow students and snarling at anyone who came too close.

It wasn't until after lunch that Harry overheard a rumor suggesting that Professor Granger was really Hermione Granger. Somehow, it had finally leaked out—Death Eaters with a son or daughter at Hogwarts to inform about the events that had taken place at Malfoy Manor. No one outside of Slytherin seemed to believe it. Hermione walked into the classroom for her Advanced Defense lesson, set her books down on the desk, and turned around to find Nott's angry sneer and Malfoy's sullen expression of betrayal. Their body language and posture was too aggressive to be ignored.

"Is there a problem Messers Nott, Malfoy?" Hermione calmly asked, as she flicked her wand toward the blackboard. The day's topic automatically scrawled itself into existence in her neat, cramped handwriting.

Both boys shook their head. Hermione taught class as though nothing were wrong, and dismissed them as usual. Harry saw both Slytherins exchange several telltale glances and mutters as they left the room, and he might have followed them to try and overhear their conversation if Hermione had not placed her hand on his shoulder. He jumped in surprise.

"Doing alright, Harry?" she asked.

"Wha—oh, yeah," Harry said, wondering what she wanted from him.

"I know you have Potions after this class. Would you do me a favor and turn this in with your homework?" Hermione slipped a folded piece of paper into Harry's hand. Ron raised an eyebrow at this, and Hermione laughed. "It's nothing sordid, I promise. But unfortunately, I plan to make dinner a bit interesting this evening, and I'd hate to have him taken by surprise."

Ron's eyebrows rose into his hairline. Harry squinted at her.

"You're going to tell everyone yourself, aren't you?"

"There are times when it's good to be direct," Hermione said, stepping back into her classroom. "I must say, though, it's an absolute delight to be able to be so bold about all of this now."

Ron nodded sagely at this. Harry grinned at her. "I approve," he said.

"I'm glad," she said, beaming at the two of them. Then she made a shooing motion with her hand. "Now run along—there's nothing to stop Professor Snape from taking points off of you for being late."

As they turned to leave, she called after them, "And twenty points to Gryffindor for your help—that ought to cover it."

~o~O~o~

Snape did, indeed, take ten points from Gryffindor when Harry showed up for class. Harry said nothing, taking the point loss without so much as a bat of his eyelid. He felt a bit silly, slipping the note in with his homework. He was almost gratified when he saw Snape's face turn extremely sour half-way through the lesson from reading the note, as though he had just been forced to suck on a lemon drop.

As Harry had predicted, dinner was indeed an interesting affair.

At the start of dinner, Hermione stood up in her chair and rapped her spoon against her glass of pumpkin juice. The sound reverberated throughout the great hall, and it quieted rather quickly as all eyes turned to their Defence professor.

"May I have your attention please?"

Harry saw her hesitate for just a fraction of a second, despite the fact that she appeared to be perfectly calm. The finger holding the spoon scratched at her ring finger for a moment, in lieu of twisting it around herself the way she did when nervous. The staff were all watching her, though Snape didn't seem to be truly seeing her—his head was facing forward, but his eyes were lowered. It was as though he were not truly present.

"I know that there have been some rumors going around, and I have decided to address them directly."

A smile flitted across her face, wry but cold.

"I am Hermione Granger."

The room's reaction was instantaneous. Several glasses dropped and shattered, but they were scarcely heard over the explosive clamor of voices—some shouts from across the room at housemates, some from across tables, others directed to Hermione herself. Hermione allowed this noise to continue for a moment, and then she rapped the spoon against her glass again—the sound cut through the room like a knife. All around her, the teachers looked very uneasy in their seats. Professor McGonagall's lips were pressed in a thin line. Dumbledore looked oddly serious. The rest looked worried on various degrees. Snape, however, was finally looking at Hermione, though his expression was carefully neutral.

"The circumstances surrounding my disappearance two and a half years ago are none of your concern," she continued evenly, "but it was most assuredly an irreparable accident that sent me back in time, and got me where I am now."

"Back in _time?_" Parvati whispered.

"Thank you for your attention," Hermione concluded, waving a hand at them in dismissal. "Carry on."

She sat back down.

"Unbelievable," Harry heard Ron say, over the murmur of voices rising through the Great Hall. "Un-effing-believable…"

"Did you know?" Dean said, leaning in closer to the table. "Is it true?"

Harry and Ron looked at each other.

"Yeah," Ron said at last. "Yeah, we did…"

~o~O~o~

"How did your Slytherins take it?" Hermione asked quietly, when Severus returned to their quarters after dinner. He had stopped by the Slytherin common room to have a word with his house, and though she had been worried about how they would receive him, she took it as a good sign that he had returned in one piece.

"They were, understandably, a disgruntled lot," Severus said, but Hermione could tell that he was in an oddly good mood. He wrapped his good arm around her, and she buried her face his in chest, relieved. "My reason for going down there was largely to inform them not to continue to expect favorable treatment in class—they'll appreciate the opportunity to save their dignity by knowing well in advance. But I managed to dispel a few rumors in the process." He buried his nose in her hair. "They all know about you, of course—not just that you're Hermione Granger…"

"Was Hermione Granger," Hermione muttered.

"A few of them had parents who were aware of the nature of our relationship," Sever us murmured. "Naturally, it is no longer a secret. All of Slytherin knows that I have a Muggle-born for a wife."

"I wish I could have seen the look on their faces," Hermione said dryly.

Severus sighed. "Come to bed," he coaxed.

"Tell me first," Hermione whispered. "How did you explain it to them?"

Severus closed his eyes. "Salazar Slytherin's view on Muggle-borns stemmed from persecution of magic and the fear of losing magical ability in offspring, as well as a general disdain of Muggles for their lack of magic," he admitted. "But I pointed out the fact that Potter, with a Pure-blood for a father and a Muggle-born for a mother, was able to repeatedly face the Dark Lord and live to tell the tale… and that the persecution of wizardfolk is almost non-existent now. They enjoy their pureblood supremacy, but somewhere along the way, even they have come to realize that fresh blood is necessary to keep the population healthy. After all," he said, kissing her cheek, "having a Muggle-born for a wife is _very_ different from a Muggle. Not to mention," he added, nuzzling her other cheek, "that you have sufficiently impressed and terrified them in class often enough—they cannot afford to underestimate you because of your heritage."

He paused, and then he said, "Many of them are still in stunned disbelief regarding your identity. I hope you're pleased."

"They have no choice but to acknowledge my magical prowess despite being a Muggle-born," Hermione murmured, finally understanding. "They can't retroactively take back their respect for my skill."

"It's merely a matter of survival on their part," Severus purred.

"You have a silver tongue," Hermione whispered.

"Isn't that how I got you to marry me?" he challenged with a drawl.

Hermione smirked, but then her expression grew somber. "What else?"

"They do, of course, understand that I am still their Head of House," Severus said, releasing her to spell off his teaching robes. He adjusted the cuff of his button-up shirt manually, before releasing one of the buttons on his chest and worming his hand inside to feel for his shoulder. "My interest in their welfare has not changed. They are still my students, and Slytherin is still _my _house. Whether they take that to heart or not is entirely up to them, but my defection to the Dark Lord has no bearing upon my duties at this school. Most of them seem to understand that," he continued, releasing his shoulder and now single-handedly releasing the buttons along his belly. "The rest will hopefully follow in time."

"You've done your best, and your best has been more than any of us could have hoped for," Hermione said, helping him with the last button and then gingerly removing the shirt from his left side. It was still reddened and inflamed, but the two marks left behind by Nagini's teeth had closed and scarred, and the swelling was almost completely gone. "It looks like you're almost healed. A few days more and—oh!"

She let out an exclamation of surprise when he kissed her, effectively cutting her off.

"Enough about my shoulder," he said softly. "It's been a _very_ long day, and I can think of a better way to spend my evening."

Hermione smiled. "In bed?" she suggested teasingly.

He grimaced, and began striding toward the bedroom, taking her with him. "I don't think my shoulder could take the armchair."

"And _that's_ why we talk about the shoulder first, love."

~o~O~o~

Life without waiting at Voldemort's beck and call took some adjustment.

The first hurdle was Albus Dumbledore. Hermione found herself in his office on Saturday evening, engaging in a blinking contest with Fawkes while the Headmaster lectured her. The phoenix was resting on his perch, head cocked to the side as Hermione attempted to out-stare him.

"Your reckless behavior has endangered the Order, has jeopardized one of the very few advantages we've had in this war," Dumbledore was saying.

Hermione's eyes weren't even watering, but she saw Fawke's beady black eyes quiver ever so slightly.

"This is not the first time you've directly disobeyed me, and I made allowances for your behavior in the past—"

Now Hermione's eyes were protesting, but she refused to give in. At last, Fawkes blinked. Unable to help herself, she smirked.

"Do you understand what you have done?" The Headmaster came around his desk, one hand on the surface, the other in the pocket of his robes, as though he were preparing to draw his wand. Perhaps he was—at the very least, Hermione suspected he was sorely tempted. She merely crossed one leg over the other and gazed up at him, as he finished: "I would like an explanation, Hermione."

Hermione inhaled sharply, and let out the breath slowly. Levelly, she asked, "Do you want the short story or the long?"

Dumbledore considered her for a moment. Hermione could see that the old man was unnerved, deservedly puzzled, and understandably angry. Yet he was merely stirred, not shaken—he was still maintaining his composure, and had not lost sight of the goal: he wanted Hermione's explanation and undoubtedly wanted to hear whether she had considered the consequences of her actions before she did them. The second suggested that she had a solution for the predicament that the Order now found itself in, without a spy within Voldemort's inner circle.

She decided to plow forward without waiting for an answer.

"I know what you were planning to do about the Horcruxes, with Harry and the Deathly Hallows," she said quietly. "You played your hand, Albus. And you knew—you _must_ have known—that I would never have allowed you to sacrifice Harry. Not even for the greater good."

"And so you took it upon yourself to take care of things?" Dumbledore replied, his words oddly calm.

"I did. I developed a ritual to split Voldemort's soul from Harry's. I came up with a way to eliminate Nagini. And yes, the ritual happened unexpectedly, and killing Nagini proved to be more difficult than I had anticipated," Hermione acknowledged, "but now Voldemort is mortal." Her eyes flashed at the Headmaster, though whether in defiance or determination, it was hard to tell. "I admit I took risks, and some things happened that I did not plan for, but all things considered…"

"You were successful," Dumbledore supplied for her.

"Yes."

The Headmaster slowly moved back around the desk, and it was with great effort that he seemed to seat himself in his chair.

"Has it occurred to you that I had a contingency plan for Harry?"

"Pardon?" Hermione asked, confused.

"Did it ever occur to you that I did not intend for Harry to die?"

"Given that you straight-up told my husband that Harry absolutely _had_ to die?" Hermione asked. "No, sir, it did not."

"Harry did have to die for my plan to work," the Headmaster agreed, "but I planned for him to be the master of all three of the Deathly Hallows when that time came, Hermione."

"I fail to see what difference that makes," Hermione answered slowly.

"He would have been the Master of Death," the wizard said meaningfully.

Hermione shook her head uncomprehendingly. "What does that mean?"

Dumbledore steepled his fingers together. "It means he would have died," he replied, "but he would not have gone on."

Hermione stared at him, and then her mouth fell open when understanding finally struck her. Dumbledore sighed.

"It would seem to me that we have badly misjudged one another," he said quietly.

Hermione felt many things at that moment. Surprise, shock, and even hurt—hurt that the Headmaster had left both herself and her husband fearing that all their attempts to preserve Harry's life would be for naught. And then anger settled in, white-hot rage that was so unlike her that it took Hermione by surprise, and it was all she could do to hastily rein it in: he had kept this vital piece of information from them _deliberately_, had left them in the dark, had continued to manipulate and play with their lives as though this were nothing more than an unusually complicated chess game. The anger was quickly quenched by the shame, guilt, and overwhelming relief that followed. Relief with the realization that deep down, in his own complicated and oblique way, Dumbledore _did_ care for Harry. Cared enough, at least, to not sacrifice him as merely another necessary casualty of war.

Hermione closed her eyes. Did she feel regret about what she had done? In a way, yes—but on the whole, no. She opened her eyes and dared to face Dumbledore squarely.

"I'm sorry I misjudged you," she said, "but I'm not sorry about what I did."

"No, I didn't expect you to be," Dumbledore said, and he sounded almost amused. "And, as you have pointed out, your plan succeeded in making Voldemort mortal once more—a very impressive feat, I might add." He tipped his head at her in acknowledgement. "However, I do hope that we have both learned our lesson from this."

"You won't keep vital details from me, and I won't do things behind your back?" Hermione guessed wryly.

"Indeed."

"I can only agree under one condition," Hermione said, sitting up a bit straighter in her chair.

Dumbledore eyed her almost politely. "And what would that be?"

"You're going to have to talk to Harry," Hermione said firmly, "and explain yourself."

Dumbledore was silent for a long moment. Hermione suspected it was not because he was considering the merit of her demand, but that he was already planning just what he would tell Harry. How would he come clean to a person he dearly cared for yet was willing to ruthlessly sacrifice?

"Grand plans, those boys had," Hermione said quietly into the stillness of the room. She saw Dumbledore's head lift, just a fraction. "But not all grand plans are good, Dumbledore. Even the best must admit that." She looked out the window, her expression uneasy. "And I… I must admit that, as well."

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**Please review!**

**~Anubis**


	37. Chapter 41

**A/N: No comment. This chapter speaks for itself.**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

**Please review!**

* * *

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. He was in Dumbledore's office with the Headmaster himself, and after a lengthy conversation discussing the events at the Ministry—everything from Bellatrix's death to the ritual and to Charlie's possession and subsequent transformation—he was left dumbstruck by what came next: The Deathly Hallows. Dumbedore had taken it upon himself to explain with a disturbing amount of calm just what they were, and how he had intended for Harry to use them.

"Let me get this straight," Harry said slowly, when Dumbledore had finished. "You meant for me to become the Master of Death, so that if I walked straight into my own death… I wouldn't really die?"

"Not if," Dumbledore responded somberly, looking at Harry over his half-moon glasses. "When."

Harry sat back in his chair, feeling rather discombobulated. If he was perfectly honest with himself, it was true: with what Dumbledore had just told him now, he would have willingly walked to his death if it meant making Voldemort killable. Thinking about it made him queasy inside—there was a part of him, the same part in every living thing, that felt uncomfortable at the prospect of his own demise—but the plan itself was up to Dumbledore's usual standard of brilliance.

He still preferred Hermione's plan, however. Whatever it was now.

There was something else bothering him, though. Dumbledore had taught him about the Elder Wand, the legendary Deathstick that was passed down through murder. If Harry was going to be the Master of Death, Dumbledore would have had to plan for him to defeat the current owner. Which meant—

"How were you planning to give me the Elder Wand?" he blurted.

Dumbledore's eyes lit up for just a fraction of a second, as though he were impressed by Harry's thoughtfulness. And then he slowly lifted up his own wand.

"A duel," he said, "I would challenge you to take the wand from me."

For a moment, Harry was dumbstruck. And then he spluttered, "You—you're the master of the Elder Wand?"

"Indeed, I am."

"But _how?_"

For a moment, Harry regretted asking the question. There was a flash of something that very much resembled pain and sorrow across the old man's face, and he instantly felt shame at having caused it. But Dumbledore answered before he could backpedal.

"You will recall, Harry, a memory I showed you of two young boys discussing the Deathly Hallows." Dumbledore sighed and settled back in his chair. "One of those boys was me. The other—do not interrupt!" he said, seeing Harry's mouth open to speak. "The other was a boy by the name of Gellert Grindelwald."

Grindelwald. The name was familiar to Harry, and it took him a moment to place it. It had been a while since he had read it, but the details quickly came back to him. Dumbledore had dueled Grindelwald. Dumbledore had won. Grindelwald had carved the sign of the Deathly Hallows into the wizarding prison Nurmengard, the very same prison he himself was residing in for his crimes. But if Dumbledore and Grindelwald were those two young boys, barely of age in the memory he had seen, then that meant…

"Grindelwald stole the wand from a wand-maker named Gregorovich," Dumbledore continued. "He intended to collect the other two Hallows, but ultimately failed."

Harry gaped at him.

"The girl and the other boy you saw in the memory was my late sister Ariana, and younger brother Aberforth," Dumbledore continued. "My mother was already dead at the time, and I was the eldest son in the family—and I will admit it, Harry, I didn't take my job very seriously. I had a brother in school and a younger sister who needed careful attention, and I abandoned them for—how did Hermione put it? Ah yes—grand plans."

"Hermione knows about this?"

"There seems to be very little that Hermione doesn't know about these days," Dumbledore said with a faint smile. His gaze grew somber. "The reason I am telling you this, Harry, is to highlight a very important point: I consider myself much more intelligent than most men, if you'll forgive the boast, but my mistakes seem to be a study in disastrous correlational severity."

He got to his feet.

"I made a great many mistakes with you as well, Harry," he said, "and I am sorry for each and every one of them."

Harry nodded slowly.

"It is also with great regret that we still have to find a way to kill Tom Riddle," Dumbledore said, turning toward the window. The sun had almost set, streaking the sky with great long brush-strokes of color. The shadow of an owl could be seen in the distance. "And that part of your destiny, I'm afraid, I have no control over."

"I always knew I'd have to be the one to kill him," Harry said.

"We will find a way," Dumbledore agreed, and he smiled. "And perhaps, with Hermione's help, it will not involve any further death-defying deeds on your part."

~o~O~o~

Voldemort's rage was incandescent, and it reflected upon the attacks that were now being reported daily by the _Prophet_. A bridge had been felled in London. The Ministry had its hands full trying to drive away the Dementors, and some of the Order's worst fears had finally come to pass: Voldemort had at last persuaded the Giants to join his side, and they left a ruined countryside in their wake. War, which had already been roiling through Great Britain, had reached a new level of escalation. Voldemort was no longer holding back or lying low: Snape's betrayal had triggered a new level of response. He himself personally laid waste to the land around Oxford, and the Ministry's tentative position finally broke: they were overwhelmed. Their Aurors couldn't handle him. There were more deaths in the month of May than the rest of the year combined, a sad fact that was reported in the _Prophet_, and which Hermione calculated to actually be true. The fatalities were piling up. Voldemort had made the decision to forego fighting in the shadows, and was attempting to hit them all hard and fast, where it hurt the most.

The Ministry was on the verge of crumbling by the time June rolled in. Student exams were the least to be worried about, but they were still scheduled to be taken, and everyone reluctantly hunkered down to study for them. Everyone was concerned about the state of things, but life _had_ to carry on. Hermione reflected that with Severus no longer in Voldemort's camp, and with Harry no longer gifted with access to Voldemort's mind, their main source of information had been cut-off. They had no inkling of when or where he would strike next.

On the other hand, with Severus no longer answering the call of the Dark Mark, a large burden had been eased. Their lives had not changed all that much in retrospect, and all things being equal, they were now in far greater danger of dying before the war ended. But they were both much happier for it.

Their newfound freedom did not last long.

"He attacked Gringotts," Hermione breathed in disbelief, the morning _Prophet_ falling from her hands. The paper displayed a picture of the destroyed entrance—he had stolen nothing, but had merely terrorized the institution by ruining their entrance hall in a vicious giant attack. Several other shops had been destroyed, but Gringotts had been the prime target, and the one everyone was most concerned about. If the Wizarding equivalent of Fort Knox could be so brazenly broken…

"This is my fault!" she said in disgust, kicking the papers aside as she opened her desk drawer, searching for pre-examination preparation papers for her students. "I knew he wouldn't take your defection well, but this!" She was very nearly speechless, her normally extensive vocabulary cut short in shock. "I never expected _this!"_

Severus picked up the abandoned pages, collecting them and folding them back into place. "This goes beyond my defection," he stated quietly. "It must."

"We were the trigger—no, _you_ were the trigger. Which means I am responsible—"

"Hermione—"

"We had him, Severus!" Hermione wheeled around, her teeth bared, the scar on her teeth made prominent with her snarl. "We were killing the beast slowly, we were beating him because we had him constantly on the defensive—we were cutting him off gradually, we _were_ weakening him. And it was working because he didn't fully realize what was happening! And now he's making a comeback, and I could have just cost us the war!"

"I agreed to this, if you recall," Severus snapped. "I thought it was a sound plan."

Hermione inhaled sharply, and then shut her mouth with a click. Severus recognized this as her trying to bite her tongue before she said something she would regret, rather than tacit agreement. The paper in his hands crumpled beneath his fingers: did she think his judgment was flawed?

And then he realized: yes, it was. He had been eager to come out from under the Dark Lord's thumb. Too eager. He had not considered all of the ramifications. It was not just his wife's judgment, but his own, that could have cost them everything. Their combined selfishness, their willingness to pull the plug too soon—they could have conceivably ruined every advantage they had in the war. All because they had given the Dark Lord the morale and incentive he needed to begin hitting hard and fast.

The Dark Lord's revival had been somewhat botched by Harry's escape from the graveyard. He had spent the first year remaining on the down and low. His attacks the following year had been deflected and carefully evaded, and the spy network he had carefully crafted in the years before had been ferreted out. This had placed him on the defensive, causing him to move with caution and uncertainty. He had turned into a wood pusher, using his forces ineffectively and accruing great losses like Bellatrix Lestrange as a result.

But now he had finally snapped. He was enraged. The serpent was cornered, and he was striking with all the vigor he could muster. And this, Severus realized, had made him more dangerous than he had ever been before.

Very quietly, he said, "We may have made a grave error."

Hermione swallowed, unspeaking.

"Our thinking, our reasoning behind what we did, may have been… precipitous." He laid a hand on her shoulder. "It doesn't matter which of us, or if even both of us, are ultimately responsible for it. What's done is done—and the only thing left is to repair it as best we can."

Hermione nodded, not quite meeting his eye as she laid her head against his shoulder. "I've been an idiot," she whispered.

"We didn't think this one through. We became careless, and we let our emotions and personal desires, get in the way." He kissed her forehead very lightly, the gesture no more than a brush of his lips against her skin. "We will endeavor for it to not happen again. But Hermione, we are only human—and after twenty years of this… we do make mistakes."

"This isn't the first, and it won't be the last," Hermione said quietly.

"But we will try."

After that, they scarcely made it to the Great Hall in time to eat breakfast before class. The students stared, of course, and there were whispers here and there—but in the grand scheme of things, Hermione's identity and the Slytherins' knowledge about their relationship had been deemed unimportant in light of the escalating war. Hermione suspected Severus had made very subtle threats to the Slytherins, with details here and there about what misfortunes might befall them if they spread rumors. Regardless of whether they felt betrayed by their Head of House for his defection of the Dark Lord, the Slytherins still knew it was better to work with Professor Snape than against him. He wasn't the most disliked teacher at Hogwarts for nothing, and few students wanted to be the target of his ire without a very good reason. Revealing Professor Granger's relationship with Professor Snape wasn't a strong enough incentive.

Some of her old classmates had initially stopped by after class to talk to her. Lavender and Parvati, who she had shared a dorm with for five years, and wanted details; Neville and Luna, who already knew, but stopped by nonetheless to see how she was holding up (and which she appreciated, oddly enough); several other members of the DA, who had been most affected by her departure, as they had been the last to see her before her disappearance. But Hermione had not had a lot of friends aside from Harry and Ron during her years in her first timeline, and she therefore did not have any long-lost friends of Remus or Sirius's caliber to finally reveal herself to.

Hermione felt as if her entire life was held together by fragile strings that were slowly breaking as the weight of her problems grew greater and more complex. Sometimes, it seemed to her as if she were barely keeping it intact.

Draco Malfoy continued to attend her class, but he was, for the most part, subdued. He performed everything by the book, as though daring her to find fault with him, but was otherwise distant and disengaged. He paid attention to her lessons, but Hermione could see it: he didn't know who she was anymore. To him, she had become a trusted mentor; now she was nobody. He continued to spend a fair bit of time with Selenius, as far as Hermione could see, and she was at least relieved that none of the Slytherins seemed to have made any sort of connection between Selenius and his true parents in the midst of all of this: their secrecy had paid off handsomely.

Hermione spent every evening the week before exams ensconced in the Headmaster's office. This time, she was scheming alongside him rather than against him—a new experience, indeed. They were both greatly disturbed by Voldemort's current behavior and perturbed by what they viewed to be responsible for it—ultimately, Hermione—but they soldiered on in an attempt to find a way to trap the beast again. None of their plans seemed to get beyond the half-baked stage: Voldemort's behavior was so erratic and his attacks so powerful that they were unable to agree upon a way to contain him.

"I wish we could just employ the ministry's help," Hermione said, nearly frustrated to tears. She took a shaky sip of her tea in an attempt to calm herself, and set the cup down with as much care as she could muster: she had already broken two mugs, and left an ugly stain on the carpet. "They've got resources, but they're all giving each other the run-around—so ridiculously unproductive, and at the worst time. The Head of the Goblin Liason Office wants nothing to do with the Aurors, who all want to set up a fortress within Gringotts itself—as if the Goblins would ever allow that. And the committee for the Disposal of Dangerous creatures has its hands full with all the attacks, and they can't seem to cooperate with the Aurors."

Dumbledore rubbed his temple. "This is indeed a challenge greater than I anticipated," he admitted.

"I just wish we could start over," Hermione muttered, biting her thumb. "It's like chess. You take a break from play, and then come back to the table. But the game we're playing has a very short hourglass."

"And the pieces, if you'll forgive me for running with your metaphor, seem to be spread out in no particularly effective order."

"Bugger," Hermione uttered in despair. She gave her tea a desolate look. "I really did bollocks this up. You had a sound plan, and I had to go and ruin it."

"There's no use shedding tears over spilled dragon's blood," Dumbledore declared with something resembling forced cheerfulness. Hermione knew he was attempting to be diplomatic, but that deep down, he agreed wholeheartedly with her assertion.

"This is stupid," Hermione muttered, and then shook herself to try and get back on track. "Alright. Suppose we lured him…"

With enough brainstorming, they did come up with a few rough ideas, but by the end of the week, that was all they had. They were planning under great duress, and with very little to work with. Hermione felt as though her grip on the situation was slipping, and she was barely clinging on with cramping fingers. But as exams drew to a close, Dumbledore was so often absent that Hermione had to continue her schemes alone.

Lure him? Do an all-out frontal assault? Try to poison him? Hermione even considered doing some fiddling with charms to create something upon which to spy on the Dark Lord with, but had no way of getting it to him. It would be easily detected, she was sure. One thing she was certain of was that none of these would work.

All of this came to naught shortly after. It was on the first day of June, a warm summer's night, and an evening when Dumbledore was away at the Ministry, that it all came crashing down. A silvery lynx burst through the heavy wooden doors and glided over to McGonagall's place at the high table. The entire hall grew deathly silent as it gracefully landed on her plate, and opened its mouth:

"_The Ministry is under siege. Scrimgeour is alive. Dumbledore is fighting. They are coming."_

It vanished a moment later, a wisp of grey smoke, and the hall erupted in such cacophony that Hermione had to clamp her hands over her ears to even hear herself think. McGonagall stood up so quickly that she nearly tipped over her chair, and her call for order was lost in the pandemonium of frightened, terrified children.

Unsurprisingly, it was Severus who first grasped the situation and took charge.

"_SILENCE!"_

His bellow echoed through the great hall, startling everyone mute. He leaned over his seat, palms pressed flat against the wood, baring his teeth at the wide-eyed students. They all shrank back in fear, but held their tongue, as he gestured toward McGonagall.

"You were saying?"

"Thank you, Severus," McGonagall said crisply, and then addressed the students.

"All of you will remain here—_quietly —_while the teachers secure the castle," she declared quietly. "The prefects will be left in charge. I expect you all to obey them in our absence." Then she stepped away from the table, and with a gesture to her staff, began leading them out of the hall. The students watched them in trembling silence as they left, and the doors whined with an audible squeal as they shut behind them.

"Minerva, what are we going to do?" Filius squeaked in an undertone, as they huddled in the Entrance Hall. "You-Know-Who is coming. We can't hold him off forever."

"We can't just evacuate the students either," Pomona responded in a hushed voice. "We're responsible for them. Many of them, especially the Muggle-borns, don't have a safe place to go."

"Both of you are correct," McGonagall cut in curtly, "but our option are limited."

Hermione's mind was whirling, her thoughts spinning with possible solutions. "Then we'll hide them," she said. "It's a great big bloody castle. We can hide them all."

"In what room?" Professor Vector demanded. "We don't have the manpower to supervise hundreds of children distributed throughout the castle. We can't protect them all."

"No," Hermione said slowly. "There's a secret passageway accessible by the One-Eyed Witch on the third floor. I've sealed it off part-way, but it leads to Honeydukes, and it's big enough that we could fit everyone down there. And if anything were to go wrong," she said, with a meaningful look at the assembled staff, "it could easily be unblocked. The students would be able to evacuate through Honeydukes, which has its own Floo."

Her colleagues all exchanged glances.

"It's workable," Filius declared. "I trust Hermione's judgment. If she says we can get them all down there, and if it leads to a safe place outside the castle, then it's our best option."

"Then we'll seal off the castle," Severus said in a low voice. "And then what? You cannot expect us to hold him off forever."

"It is my hope that Dumbledore will return before that happens," McGonagall said heavily, "but in the event that it doesn't—then Hogwarts will fall. We will escape down the passage with the students, divide them between us, and evacuate them to different parts of Britain."

"Most of 'em will have families ter return to. The rest of 'em we can look after," Hagrid interjected quietly.

"Then it's agreed," McGonagall said, standing up straighter. "The Heads of House will lead their students to the secret passage—Hermione, you will take my place for Gryffindor," she asserted. "I will begin sealing the castle. The rest of you, come with me."

The three Heads and newly-instated substitute remained by the doors as Professor McGonagall led the other teachers away. Hermione heard her send them off to different parts of the castle, and then turned to the others.

"Let's go," she said.

They pulled open the doors and filed into the Great Hall. Severus at once signaled to his students to stand up, and there was the scraping of benches as they obeyed. Their faces were ghostly white as Severus gestured toward the doors.

"We are going to the third floor," he said imperiously. "Organize yourselves alphabetically, by last name, and follow me."

He turned around swiftly, his robes billowing out behind him as he strode out of the hall. His students shuffled out of the room in orderly silence, throwing backwards glances at the other students as they left. Some looked scared. Others contemptuous. Hermione waited until their footsteps had faded, and then gestured at the Gryffindors.

"You lot," she commanded. "You're coming with me."

They all stood up, murmuring low questions and even some protests, but Hermione held up a hand to demand their silence. They reluctantly complied, and she began directing them down the same path Severus had taken.

"Where are we going?" one third-year asked in a hushed tone.

"We're going to hide you and then ward the castle," Hermione said quietly, as they ascended the stairs. By the time they made it to the third floor, over half the Slytherins had already vanished down the tunnel. The Gryffindors all watched, wide-eyed, as the remainders clambered in.

"Where does it lead to?" Selenius asked, pushing forward a bit for a better look.

"You'll find out in just a moment. Mr. Malfoy!" Hermione barked, stopping the seventh-year just as he was about to climb in. "Come here for a moment."

Malfoy gave his Head of House a panicked look, and then pulled his leg free and turned to her. "Yes, Professor?"

"The tunnel at the end leads to Honeydukes, but it's been sealed off. Do you remember your lessons concerning the removal of wards?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Good." Hermione leaned forward, until they were face to face. Draco was a bit taller than her, but it still had the desired effect: he stood up straighter, giving her his full attention. "If you receive a Patronus from any of the teachers telling you to remove the wards, I want you do to so immediately, and then direct the students down the passage. Do you understand?"

Draco nodded frantically.

"Alright." Hermione's expression softened. "Go on."

Last to climb in, Draco clambered over the statue and disappeared. Hermione turned to her wide-eyed Gryffindors and gestured at the hump.

"Line up, one at a time. Let's go."

Hermione mentally began checking names off as the students stepped forward. Selenius climbed in quietly and without fuss. When it was Harry's turn, he paused, his body already half-way in.

"Let me stay behind. I want to fight."

"That's not up for debate," Hermione told him flatly. "Get in."

Harry hesitated. Hermione plowed on before he could formulate a proper protest.

"If something goes wrong, I need you to be a leader and keep everyone calm," Hermione said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Okay, but—"

Without warning, Hermione pushed down hard. Harry let out a yell of surprise as he shot down the tunnel, and Hermione looked up in time to see Severus smirking.

"I've wanted to do that for years."

"You _have_ been doing it for years." Hermione turned to the remaining students and clapped her hands, just in time for the Ravenclaws to arrive. "Next up! Come on, let's go!"

As soon as all of the students were inside, the Prefects joined them. Hermione requested the House Ghosts to join them to keep an eye on things, and then shut the hump. She ran her hands over it, weaving in careful wards, and then stepped back. A quick consultation with the other staff members, and they all split up to different parts of the castle.

"The other passages are already sealed, thankfully," Hermione told Severus, quickly descending the stairs to return to the Entrance Hall. A knight creaked forward, one of many marching their way to the courtyard. "I don't know what else needs to be done—ah, there's Filch!"

Filch hobbled into view, Mrs. Norris twined around his ankles. "The Headmistress says she wants you to take care of the Astronomy Tower," he wheezed. "Professor Snape is to lock the Entrance Hall as soon as the armor has finished assembling."

"Thank you!" Hermione called, as she turned around and began racing up the steps two at a time.

She hurried up the stairs, and reached the Astronomy Tower to find Professor McGonagall already there. With a curt word, the older woman directed her on what wards to set up, and Hermione quickly paired off with her to accomplish this.

"How much time do we have?" she asked.

"I don't know," the deputy Headmistress said, looking worried. "Kingsley hasn't sent another Patronus."

Hermione didn't try to convince her that it would be alright. None of them knew that, and empty words surely wouldn't help them now. Instead, she set her lips into a thin line, and continued drawing up the wards.

"What worries me," McGonagall said at last, "is that Albus hasn't returned."

"Kingsley said he was fighting," Hermione said softly. "It sounds like he's dueling the Dark Lord."

McGonagall's response was cut off by dark shapes slowly coming up on the vanishing horizon. Hermione squinted, and then grabbed one of the telescopes and directed it toward the distance.

"Giants!" she declared. She shifted the telescope upward, and then added, "And Death Eaters—they've got brooms!"

Hermione heard Professor McGonagall summon her Patronus, and looked up in time to see a dozen different striped tabbies racing off in different directions. She turned to the Deputy Headmistress.

"Are we ready? Is the school locked down?"

"For now," Minerva said, her face chalk white but set.

"This might buy us some time," Hermione said, suddenly hit by an idea. She raised her wand. "_Accio _Fireworks!_ Accio _Portable Swamp!_"_

There was a loud _bang_ as the objects snapped into view, as though they had been conjured, and fell to the floor in a heap. McGonagall looked on in a mixture of amazement and disbelief as Hermione unwrapped the fireworks.

"Minerva, take that down to the Entrance Hall and set it off," she said, tossing the Portable Swamp package to the Deputy Headmistress. "Ask Severus for something corrosive." She leaned over the rampart, wedging herself in the space between posts, and aimed one of the fireworks toward the hulking figures in the distance. "_Incendio!"_

There was a loud squeal and a bang as the fireworks went off. A single rocket exploded outwards, arching up in a perfect parabola with a sinister _squeee_ until it began its slow descent. Hermione saw the giants pause to watch it, and peering through the telescope, she saw their looks of incomprehension. And then it struck one of them squarely in the belly, and there was a commotion of flashing lights and wild noise as the rocket exploded. Catherine wheels and fire-breathing dragons roared out, multiplying as they crashed and burned into whatever targets made themselves available. And unfortunately for the assembled giants, the fireworks thought they were _very_ good targets.

"Fred and George are brilliant!" Hermione said, beaming with pride as the Death Eaters struggled to deal with a childish prank turned deadly. The giants were panicking now, stomping and roaring in pain and fear, and Hermione saw one of the Death Eaters get knocked off his broom by a swinging fist. She turned to look at McGonagall, but she was already gone. Satisfied, Hermione picked up another rocket and after a moment of searching the horizon, saw something approaching from another direction—spiders. Giant spiders. Acromantulas. The very ones Hagrid loved. But they were not coming for the castle, Hermione realized, but were making their steady march toward the giants. Hagrid must have appealed to them—at the very least, Aragog must have ordered them all to assist.

Hermione set off a second box of fireworks and then a third, directing them all at the Death Eaters trying to escape the Giants' rage. From the distance, it was like watching a carnival, with the colorful lights blaring, twisting, and turning every which way. And then she picked up the last two boxes, shrunk them, and stuffed them inside her pockets. She knew they would not be held off forever, but she had bought them time; and when they inevitably broke into the castle, this would provide further mayhem.

She returned to the Entrance Hall to find the doors locked shut. The other teachers were assembled at the base of the stairs, gingerly putting distance between themselves and the enormous swamp that covered the entirety of the hall. The swamp bubbled and frothed menacingly, and steam rose up in several places: it looked poisonous.

"They're here," Hermione stated tightly, as she looked out over the swamp and to the tightly-locked doors. And then she smiled. "We're ready."

And then she turned on her heels and raced back up to the North Tower.

* * *

**Please review!**

**~Anubis Ankh**


	38. Chapter 42

**A/N: College begins for me in just a few weeks. I still can't really wrap my head around it.**

**Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.**

**Please review!**

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The underground passage was dimly lit and quite cramped. It was spread out unevenly, to the point where a good quarter of the Gryffindors were squeezed into the narrowest portion of the tunnel with the majority of the Hufflepuffs, while the Ravenclaws enjoyed the large and cavernous portion that came before it. The Slytherins, closest to the end of the passage, were pressed uncomfortably tight against the bottlenecked Gryffindors. Selenius, who had been one of the first to climb in, was squashed against the wall next to Draco, who had entered behind the other Slytherins dead last.

All around them, people were whispering quietly, their voices echoing in hushed tones around the passage. The ghosts floated through, surveying them and occasionally reporting back to the Prefects distributed throughout the tunnel. The Head Boy and Head Girl had tried to make rounds themselves, but after stepping on several people and dealing with loud complaints by people they had squeezed through, they gave up and let the ghosts do it for them.

It was difficult to keep track of time down here. Those who had a watch had people huddled around them, watching the minutes tick by in mental agony. Selenius guessed that they had been there for no more than half an hour before one first-year in a red-and-gold tie spoke up:

"Are we going to die?" he whispered.

"Don't be ridiculous," a sixth-year Slytherin snapped. "The teachers would never let that happen to us."

"But what if they die, too?"

"If they die, I'm going to be very irritated," another Slytherin drawled. "I never did get my Defense final back."

"When did you suddenly switch to Ravenclaw?" his friend quipped wearily.

"Since I had to study for that bloody final."

"Quiet, please!" one of the Prefects called.

The conversation died. They sat around, waiting for the Prefect to turn her attention elsewhere, and then the Slytherin continued, "Granger's test was a killer, I tell you."

"I don't know why you thought it'd be easy," Malfoy interjected.

"I never said it would be _easy_—"

"Hey, Draco," Pansy Parkinson said, leaning into view. "What did Professor Granger want with you?"

Selenius could tell that Draco wanted nothing more than to shrink back. He certainly didn't want to confess the reason—it would open up so many other questions, after all. Such as why Draco had been given private lessons by Hermione Granger. And if the others knew that he could remove the ward blocking the way to Honeydukes, they might be tempted to force him to remove it prematurely.

"She's put him in charge," Selenius spoke up, cobbling together a half-truth of sorts. "If the ward breaks, he knows the way out, and we're supposed to follow him."

"How did you know about this place?"

"My father, of course," Draco lied. He cast Selenius a silent look that said _thank you_. "Honeydukes is at the end, I could sneak in whenever I wanted."

Of course, until now, he had never knew such a passage existed.

There were a few snorts and some incoherent mumbling, much of it along the lines of "you could have invited us", but they fell silent. The moments slowed to a crawl. And then there was a loud squeal and a bang that reverberated through the entire school, echoing all the way down to the passage; it was muted but unmistakable.

"What was that?" Dean demanded, gripping the wall for support as a second squeal-plus-bang echoed through the tunnel. "It sounds like someone set off a rocket!"

"They're fireworks," Selenius said, recognizing the sound immediately. "Weasley fireworks!"

"Does that mean we can come out now?" a second-year Gryffindor asked hopefully. "Are they celebrating?"

There was a unanimous, slightly frustrated cry of _"No!"_ as the sound of different fireworks could be heard in the very far distance. The entire tunnel went silent as they strained to hear and make sense of what was happening above grounds, but they couldn't make out anything more than the sound of various sparklers. There was a suddenly yelp from the narrow portion of the tunnel, and Selenius stood up as Harry pushed his way through.

"Malfoy!" he bellowed. "Where's Malfoy?"

"What do you want, Potter?" Draco snapped, scrambling to his feet.

"You know how to get through the wards." Harry tripped over a kneeling student, and almost fell flat on his face. He scrambled for his glasses, which had fallen off, and quickly put them back on. "Hermione's blocked up the entrance to the tunnel. You need to open it!"

There was a loud clamor of confusion and demands from the nearby students, but Selenius's high-pitched cry of, "Shut up!" followed by an angry Prefect's order called them to silence.

"Why would I do that?" Draco demanded.

"Because they're fighting up there," Harry said angrily, "and I'm going to help."

Draco sneered at him. "Well will you look at that? Saint Potter's going to fly to the rescue."

Harry whipped out his wand, and pointed it between Draco's eyes. His face was dead-set. In the dim wandlight, the scar on his forehead was thrown into relief. "I don't have time for this. I need you to unblock it—_now!"_

"You think you can do something the Professors can't?" Draco challenged. "What brilliant, hitertho-unknown piece of magic are you going to pull out of your arse this time, Potter?"

"My best friend's up there," Harry said quietly. At that moment, Ron had also shoved his way through, and was standing at Harry's side. His expression was equally set. "I have to help her."

"Not happening," Draco snarled.

Selenius could tell a fight was about to break out. Harry already had his wand. Draco's fingers were itching toward the pocket of his robes.

"Stop it, both of you!" he said, pushing himself between them, arms outstretched. "Mum said to stay down here and keep quiet unless the teachers send a Patronus." He jabbed a finger at Harry, not recognizing the looks of shock that were registering on the surrounding students' faces. "She _told_ you to stay put! Running around up there is just going to get in the teachers' way!"

Harry gaped at him. Selenius turned around, and saw that Draco's jaw had also dropped. He turned to look at Ron, whose face was drained of all color.

"Tell him, Ron," Selenius entreated, his expression uncertain. "We're not supposed to…"

He trailed off, and glanced around.

"What?" he snarled.

Blaise Zabini's form hovered into view just behind Selenius, his expression contorted with something between disgust and surprise.

"_Mum_," he said, loud enough for all to hear. It was the first time he had ever addressed Selenius directly. "You called her _mum._"

Selenius's jaw opened, but made no sound; it clicked shut, and for the first time, Harry saw it: absolute, abject fear. It was as though all the color had been drained out of his already pale skin. All around him, his fellow students were gazing at him as though he had suddenly grown a second head. Whispers echoed through the tunnel, and by the time Selenius managed to pull his wits together, it had already reached the Ravenclaws at the other end of the passage.

"I never said I was anything other than a half-blood," he said, swallowing audibly. Harry took a step forward, as though to place himself between Selenius and the towering Slytherin. He heard Neville pushing his way through, and the taller boy stepped up a moment later, his face set. "I just never said who my parents were. But yes," he said, his eyes flashing with challenge as he finally prepared himself to own up to it. There was no recanting now. His hand was already in his pocket, fingering his wand. "She's my mum. What of it?"

"She's _married. _To Professor _Snape,_" Zabini said, still sounding more shocked than anything else. His dark eyes were fixed on Selenius. "So what's this nonsense about being a _Black_?"

Selenius said, very quietly, "If you spent preening and more time thinking, you'd have figured it out by now."

"Blaise," Tracy pleaded, pressed against the wall, watching the older boy bristle. "Not now."

"He's—"

"Don't," she urged, casting Nott a frightened glance. The boy had his eyes cast to the ground. The other Slytherins were watching in apparently morbid fascination, but none of them added their own opinion. Even Parkinson was silent, though she was wearing an expression of revulsion on her face. "This isn't the time or place."

"In case it hasn't occurred to you, Zabini," Draco drawled, appearing rather unruffled despite the situation, "until recently, no one knew Professor Snape had a wife. Or that Professor Granger was Potter's Mudblood friend. Or that either of them had an heir. What name was he going to attend under without giving it away?"

Zabini glared at them both, his lips twisting into a sneer, but he turned away. "Blood-traitor," he said, without glancing back.

"Anyone who follows the Dark Lord is the real blood-traitor," Selenius retorted to his retreating back. His hands shook with anger as he added, "Actually, anyone who follows the Pureblood creed is a blood-traitor."

There was a ripple of murmurs through the tunnel at this, many surprised, some shocked, and most of the confused, as his statement was echoed. And, in the Slytherins' end of the tunnel, mostly angry.

Zabini stopped walking, and Selenius had the sense that if he could see his face, they would see a tick twitching in it: he had never seen this particular Slytherin lose his cool, but his relaxed and aloof demeanor had finally cracked. For the most part, Zabini had ignored Selenius, and had rather made a point of it. Now, though, the second-year had finally gotten under his skin.

"_What_ did you say?"

Selenius continued, his voice steady despite his anger. He finally had the most aloof and dismissive Slytherin listening to him—certainly not with an open mind, but at least with open ears. "A Blood-traitor is someone who gives up or compromises their magical heritage. In _Hogwarts, A History_, Salazar Slytherin's quoted as having said that it's a denial of our magical inheritance, our gift. _That's_ why he thought mingling with Muggles was wrong. But rejecting and killing people who have that gift because their magical pedigree isn't as long as yours is also wrong."

"Slytherin didn't want Mudbloods here either," Parkinson interjected, her pug-nosed face drawn up in disgusted sneer.

"Yes, because they were persecuted by Muggles," Selenius snapped. "He thought they were a risk to the magical community. But Muggle-borns, in case you haven't noticed, _aren't_ Muggles!"

"Don't pretend to know what our Founder thought!"

"Typical Gryffind—"

"I know that Slytherin cared about Hogwarts!" Selenius was very close, but not quite, yelling. If he had not had everybody's attention before, he had it now. "I know he cared about his students, and I know he wanted them to be able to live without fear of persecution by Muggles! But since he couldn't have that, because Muggles were bloody stupid back then, Slytherin thought Muggle-borns would be the weak link that would get them all exposed. That doesn't mean he didn't acknowledge that they had the gift!"

Behind him, he heard one student mutter, "Muggles aren't bloody stupid now?"

Zabini was staring at him with an expression of undisguised disgust on his delicate features, perhaps even a taint of revulsion. Many of the other Slytherins, many who were pressed up against the Gryffindors in trying to get a good view of the confrontation, were frowning at him as though they had never seen him before. Selenius was well-known in Slytherin, even if he wasn't precisely well-liked, but it seemed they were rapidly re-evaluating their perception of him. And not in a positive light.

And then Nott said, without looking up from the floor, "Zabini, Professor Granger's a Mudblood. We all know this." He looked incredibly uncomfortable, and Selenius knew it was painful for him to speak up: it went against everything he had been taught. "But even you have to admit she's a skilled witch."

Zabini and several other Slytherins scowled at him; Selenius suspected this was meant to be a private acknowledgement none of them were supposed to admit out loud. But they were all trapped down here, an audience to this confrontation, and there was no way to avoid it. They would have to hear him out.

Selenius folded his arms across his chest. "My dad's a half-blood in the traditional sense," he said, and in the event they needed reminding, added, "and he's the Head of Slytherin." Awkwardly, he tried to clarify, "I picked up a lot from him. He told me that Slytherin was right about magical blood being important. And that—that given the era Slytherin grew up in, his stance made a lot of sense." He looked painfully uncomfortable now, revealing such private details of his father, but plowed on, knowing it needed to be said. "But things are different now. Muggles are either unaware we even exist, or they accept or ignore us if they know. Rejecting Muggle-borns and pursuing a campaign against them because their families aren't a part of our world is just bloody stupid now."

The silence that followed was not in reflection of his words, but a hushed response to the sound of crashing echoing from up above and beyond. They were not directly under the castle at this point, but the grounds, in a tunnel that veered off in the direction of Hogsmeade. From the surface, the muffle of battle could be heard by the occupants of the tunnel below.

And then the tunnel itself shook, and shrieks could be heard as the students grabbed onto whatever they could—the walls, the floor, each other—as bits of stone debris came crumbling down. They covered their heads, and several had the sharpness of mind to cast protective charms on themselves and their friends.

"The tunnel's going to come down!" Ron shouted, trying to be heard over the roar of noise.

Selenius was crouched on the ground, covering his head with his arms. "Draco, take down the ward!" he pleaded. "It's not going to hold!"

Ducking his head, and wincing as a sharp rock bounced off his head, Malfoy scooted over to the barrier and placed his hands on it. It glowed gold the moment he did so, signaling its presence, and he pressed his wand to it, muttering quickly. The ward dissolved in a sheen of light, and those closest to the barrier wasted no time in hurling past. Malfoy quickly pressed himself against the wall to avoid being trampled, and pointed his wand at the ceiling. He was tempted to follow his Housemates, to be one of the first to get out of the collapsing tunnel, but at the rate that the debris was coming down—small chunks of stone the size of their fists, though more was sure to come—it wouldn't hold long enough for everyone else to get through.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!"_

It was such a basic spell, but it did as he hoped: the load-bearing arch twenty-feet away began pressing up against the collapsing cave, halting its destruction. Selenius pressed against the wall with him a moment later, avoiding the Gryffindors now pushing their way through, and shouted, "_Reparo!"_

The wall began steadily reassembling itself. A moment later, Harry pressed himself against the wall as well, turning to face Draco.

"I need you to remove the ward at the entrance," he panted.

"Are you _crazy?_"

"I—"

"That was a rhetorical question, Potter! You _are_ crazy!"

"I have to do this!" Harry said, his voice rising to be overheard; the cave was awash with the roar of crumbling walls and frightened children. "Please, Malfoy, let me through!"

"Why?" Selenius demanded, leaning over to look at him.

"Because my wand shares the same core as Voldemort's," Harry said, leaning over as well so that he could look Selenius in the eye. "It activates _Priori Incantatem_ every time we're forced to duel."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Draco demanded, at the same time Selenius asked, "What's that?"

"It means I have an idea on how to kill him."

"Fine," Selenius snapped, glancing over at the mouth of the narrow part of the tunnel. "Draco, let him through."

"I'm not going back there! In case you haven't noticed, the wall's about the collapse!"

Selenius gestured upwards. "The tunnel's not collapsing any faster, and the part near the schools' the least threatened by what's happening here. Worst case scenario, we're trapped on the school's side of the tunnel."

"If we die doing this, I'm going to make your afterlife a living hell." The last student had passed, and he pushed himself away from the wall. "Let's do this quickly."

Harry shot Selenius a grateful look, and they hurried through the part of the tunnel leading back to Hogwarts.

~o~O~o~

The Giants had made it onto the ground, but that was as far as they went; Hermione, in an uncharacteristic show of viciousness, had killed them on the spot with a painful combination of Strangling Spells and the use of the _Imperius_ to cause them to turn on one another. They were resistant to magic, to the point where Hermione's powerful spells were almost ineffectual, but not immune. They fell to the ground with earth-shaking thuds as though they had been merely tripped, leaving long trenches in the wake of their enormous bodies. The Acromantulas climbed over the fallen, finishing with venom and terrifying mandibles what Hermione's spells had not, and then moving on to overwhelm the ones still standing. It was a gruesome sight, but Hermione refused to let them reach the infrastructure of the school itself.

Hermione found no pleasure in the irony that the spiders were, on Hagrid's orders, massacring the Giants who came from the same tribe the half-giant himself was descended from. But Hagrid's determination to protect the school was just as strong as the other professors', and he did what had to be done with alacrity. Many of them were turning to flee at this point: between an army of giant spiders and Death Eaters, they would rather take their chances with the Death Eaters, who were having their own difficulties and were not precisely in a position to stop them. One of them was caught by the much-aggravated Whomping Willow as he tried to run.

Hermione surveyed the castle grounds, her lips set into a thin, grim line. The giants had not made it past, and she had been well-protected from backlash by casting spells from the ramparts on the North Tower. But the Death Eaters had made it inside, and now that the larger threat was taken care of, she was needed at the front lines. Only the teachers were here; the Order was undoubtedly still occupied at the Ministry, which was still under heavy assault. Hogwarts was alone.

She was altogether not very shocked, though she was certainly utterly dismayed, when she reached the front steps and discovered that the Chief Death Eater had arrived: he was standing just beyond the swamped-out Entrance Hall, and for a moment, Hermione thought she was in a dream. The scene was utter chaos, Voldemort's remaining eleven, most loyal followers each battling a single teacher, but with Voldemort himself calmly strolling through the wreckage. Broken suits of armor were scattered throughout the hall and on the stairs, as though they had been blasted apart. Some were half-sunken into the swamp, and were visibly corroding. A moment later, he lifted up off the ground, and without so much as a broom to help him, floated over the noxious swamp, his robes just barely lifting free of the sickly green surface.

His feet touched the stone floor on the other side with a gentle sort of grace. There was a shriek as Hagrid swung at one of the Death Eaters with his pink umbrella, knocking the man over, and then lifted him up and threw him into the swamp. Screams echoed through the hall as the man struggled to pull himself out, but was waterlogged by his own robes, and blind with agony: his skin was melting off his bones like liver-flavored ice cream on a hot day. Voldemort took seemingly no notice of the man's excruciating death-throes.

And then the moment broke, like a piece of rubber stretched too far, snapping them back to reality.

Hermione raised her wand, and pointed it at the Dark Lord. It was a wordless command that escaped her, a silent Killing Curse that erupted in a flash of green from her wand, filled with every fiber of hatred she possessed; and it was a quick Dark Lord that hastily stepped aside.

"You cannot hope to keep Hogwarts from me forever," he said, his red eyes locking onto Hermione as she advanced on him. "The Ministry has fallen, girl. Dumbledore is _dead._ There is no Order to help you." He deflected her spell, and retaliated with a lazy upward flick of his wand. "Twelve teachers cannot hope to defeat me."

Hermione's breath caught, and then she bared her teeth. There would be time to mourn later. Time to wonder about the Headmaster. Time to learn if what Voldemort was saying was really true. But now wasn't that time...

From above, crystal balls suddenly began crashing to the floor, bouncing off of the Dark Lord's shield. Both Hermione and the Dark Lord looked up in time to see Trelawney perched upon one of the stairs, chucking crystal balls left and right. The Death Eater Sprout was still attempting to gain the upperhand on suddenly staggered sideways as he was struck in the head with one of the flying projectiles, and he stumbled backwards into the swamp without any help from his opponent whatsoever. There was a horrible squelching sound as the swamp latched onto him, and the Death Eater let out a cry of agony, struggling to pull himself free.

"That's _thirteen_ teachers_!_" Trelawney cried. "A most unlucky number—for _you!_"

Seeing an opportunity, Hermione lunged; Voldemort parried. Sprout joined her a moment later, ducking and dodging the Dark Lord's attacks while trying to get in some of their own. Hagrid charged through to help take out the other Death Eaters, and Hermione saw him lift up an enormous chunk of debris. He hefted it over his head, and then with an almighty cry, hurled it into the swamp.

There were cries of surprise on both sides, but the teachers were able to back away quickly enough to avoid the backsplash: several of the Death Eaters were not. And then Severus was at Hermione's side, his face set in a terrifying rictus of a snarl, as he tilted the duel in their favor. The Dark Lord gathered up the swampwater that stained the stone floor, swirling it around himself like a protective, eerie cocoon, and then it morphed into a jet that gushed toward them. They deflected it by wresting control of it from him and transfiguring it into a wall of knives, which snapped forward to stab him. They were caught in a deadly dance of coordination, where a single slip would be fatal. There were no second chances with the deadly spells being employed by the The Dark Lord, and he deflected their spells with ease. Hermione scarcely had what it took to cast the Killing Curse the first time, and she not only didn't have what it took to muster it up a second time, but she feared hitting someone else—namely, her husband. There would be no further Unforgivables from them here. A thrust of the Dark Lord's wand caused the staircase behind them to explode. They were thrown to the side, all of them, and Hermione struggled to regain her feet as the Dark Lord turned his wand on her.

His red eyes flashed with cruel certainty.

"_Avada Kedav—"_

He was interrupted by a familiar, unexpected cry of, "_Expelliarmus!"_

Light exploded before Hermione's eyes, two dizzying shades of red and green. Where the spells joined, sparks flew, blinding Hermione with their intensity. But they were stuck: neither Harry nor Voldemort could cast while trapped in this battle of magical will. She was already a bit out of it from the initial blast, but as she got uncertainly to her feet, she saw Severus standing at Harry's side, wand pointed at the Dark Lord. His face contorted as he gazed upon his former master, not with fear, but the smug realization of _victory._

Hermione saw the lips form on his mouth. She saw the widening of the Dark Lord's eyes as he realized what was to come next.

"_Petrificus totalus!"_

The light binding Harry and Voldemort's wands broke; Voldemort stood there for a single moment, frozen in place. And then he slowly began to tilt backwards, at first by degrees, and then with speed, falling backwards into the remnants of the swamp. Hermione watched, wearing a stupefied expression of shock, as he sank without protest into the acid. There were no screams. No movement, no struggle. There was a moment as his remaining Death Eaters realized what happened, and then they scrambled to escape. The Professors they had been battling would have none of that, and used the opportunity to fell them while their backs were turned.

And then they joined Harry, Severus, and Sprout, watching as the Dark Lord sank deeper into the corrosive swamp, like a grotesque statue being melted down in a boiling cauldron. Hermione joined them a moment later, and registered the identical expressions on their faces: relief mixed with utter horror. The snake-like face disappeared from view, and the surface bubbled and frothed. They watched, none of them moving a muscle, each fearing that somehow, the monster would still climb out.

And then the bubbling stopped.

Then Harry got to his knees, bent over the cobblestone floor, and retched.

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**-Anubis Ankh**


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